Tau'va
by Sephodwyrm
Summary: The Tau'va is under serious Revision...I intend to rewrite certain chapters to make more sense, especially now that I have more backup.
1. Platoon Sergeant

_Disclaimer: I don't own Warhammer 40K, and would perhaps accidentally without any ill intention put down certain inaccuracies. I apologize for this and would welcome any criticism._

Chapter 001

"Standard schooling of 8 years, began vocational training at Port Stymonson cargo docks, no criminal record, outstanding physical parameters…" a flat faced commissar dressed in the Imperial Red flipped through the pages and perused the specifications of a particular guardsman. He raised his scarred eyebrow and looked at the young lad standing before him. This one looks cleaner than the rest. Young, perhaps too young for his squad, and too tender. And they're entrusting a platoon to this whelp. The commissar hardened his stare. The guardsman looked back, betraying no fear or uncertainty. He was ready for any type of judgment.

"Do you understand the vows that you will swear this day?" another capped figure questioned the guardsman. The two medallion crimsons on his chest carapace indicate the length and savagery of the services and tours he had seen. "Do you understand the sheer weight of duty that the Emperor has placed on all of us the very day we are born into this world?"

"Yes, Lieutenant Kunst. Just as the Emperor has adored each and every one of us and sacrificed himself for mankind, so shall we form a bastion of flesh and blood and defend the Empire of Man against the mutant, heretic and alien." the guardsman replied.

"Standard answer, straight from the books." the commissar does not seem impressed.

"Indeed. What say you, guardsman, of duty and faith? Search not in the books, but from your heart." Kunst put forth another question.

"Faith is the purpose of existence, and duty is the action of faith. A dutiful man need not be faithful, but a faithful man is always dutiful."

"Another standard answer."

"My apologies, Lord Commissar Essesohn, such is the limitations of our world. The Ecclesiarchy rarely visit this world to remind its denizens of the importance of the Holy Tenets."

"No, that's good enough. This is the bare minimum of my expectations. The difficulties in these fringe worlds are great, and the burden shouldered by its people is seemingly unfair. You, guardsman, know that the greater the burden, the greater its rewards. To suffer as the Emperor did, that is itself a reward. Do you seek martyrdom for the Imperium?" commissar Essesohn stared straight at the very eyes of the guardsman, expecting him to flinch.

"Yes, Lord Commissar," the guardsman held his ground, "I am prepared to give my life to the Imperium."

"For the sake the Emperor, or the promised pension that your grieving family would receive?" the commissar is very blunt about this matter. "You should have been made aware by your lieutenant that pension is not guaranteed. It is a bonus, yes, and an attractive one, but not every tale comes true. And you should be reminded of that. So, guardsman, what do you serve?"

"I serve the Emperor, for we of Orres Prime venerate him above all." the guardsman said without hesitation.

"It would gladden me more to know that you serve the pension." the commissar's stare grew even harder. "I have seen better displays of supposed faith and fanaticism, only to see it melt into a pool of traitorous muck before the slightest of difficulties. At least the pension is real."

"Lord Commissar, I have searched my heart. It is the Emperor I serve. For without the Emperor, there would be no pension. Without the Emperor, we would be nothing but a wandering blind herd grasping in the darkness, exposed to the evils of the world." the Guardsman hid his fear of rejection well. He knew that he was ordered here for his excellence in training and nominal service. However, he had never expected to be questioned directly by an Imperial Commissar. These men were reputed to eat stones for all three meals, and their hearts are even harder than iron.

"You don't fool me, guardsman. I have executed more men than you have ever known, all of them on the field except for five. You have a wife and a son to join you in a month's time. You joined the guards when you figured out that you need a better paying job. Is that not right?"

"Lord…"

"I am asking a question. Yay, or Nay?"

"Yes, Lord Commissar." the Guardsman answered quietly. Lieutenant Kunst looked disappointed.

"So you joined the guards out of love of money, and swallowed the Imperium Tenets as any meat providing cattle stock chew their feed, and regurgitate it out if necessary?"

"No, Lord Commissar. That I say nay." the Guardsman snapped out of his fear.

"Hmph. How do you explain yourself, guardsman? I am willing to tell others that I executed six men off the field, and I am willing to carry that out, too, if necessary."

"Lord Commissar, it may be true that I joined the guards out of necessity, but it is the guards' life and duty to defend the Imperium that taught me the values of faith and duty, and to know our Emperor. In my youth I have prayed for Him to deliver me out of my miserable existence, and when the High Lord called Orres Prime to arms, I was amongst the first to join. The pension was to provide my wife solace in my absence, for I do not wish her hardship. Mercy is an Imperial Virtue, is it not?" the Guardsmaon said confidently.

Lord Commissar Essesohn now turned his glare at Lieutenant Kunst. Kunst bowed his head in a display of defeat. After an awkward period of silence, the Commissar turned towards the Guardsman once more, this time with a softer tone, yet hard enough to cut rock nonetheless. "Guardsman, erase mercy from your misguided interpretation of Faith. Mercy's reward is betrayal. We do not compromise at any cost. I have seen your records. Carefully and to the letter. Feel free to correct me, because I am not an unreasonable man.

"Unlike most men we have recruited on Orres, you have showed an unfailing observance to the Duties of Faith, and abstinence from all things narcotic. You have dutifully written to your domestic partner without fail, and have shown an eagerness for learning and education. What is even more considerable is that you never allow the Aquila to stray from your body. In respect of your military duty, you have chosen to stay within the regimental headquarters without petitioning for leave, which is within your rights as a guardsman, only observing the Holy Days to be by the side of your domestic partner, and only to accompany her to the Mass." it was Essesohn's turn to suppress his emotions. He is growing old. And he desires a worthy protégé.

The Guardsman stood agape. It would seem that the guards were spying on him.

"Fear not, guardsman. We only do this to unique recruits. People that we see potential in." Lieutenant Kunst interjected.

"Indeed. Guardsman, Attention!" the Commissar suddenly thundered. The Guardsman reacted instinctively as if conditioned to do so by reflex. He hammered his heels together and stood like the mighty stone pillars that held up the domed roof of the company headquarters. "Remind us of the tenet of Faith!"

"Venerate the Immortal Emperor, for without Him we are nothing!"

"Remind us of the duty of the guardsman!"

"To defend the Empire of Man, to purge the Unclean and the Heretic, the Mutant and the Alien! To live on our feet bearing arms upon the traitor and to die knowing our duty is done."

"Remind us of the failure to do so!"

"Everlasting torment and damnation, for such is the price of the traitor!"

"Lieutenant Kunst, regimental commissar of Orresian 11th will now question. Is this man ready for his promotion as Sergeant? Is this man ready to lead his squad?"

"Aye, Lord Commissar, I swear it by my blood and put faith in the decisions of the company." Kunst replied.

"Then it shall be done. Guardsman, step forward!" Essesohn's voice is unwaveringly strong, like the thunders of Orres Prime during the dark monsoon storms. The Guardsman stepped forward. Lieutenant Kunst presented him with a Ryza pattern chainsword, a laspistol and a worn shoulder plate with an embossed Imperial Eagle on a large ritual tray.

"Guardsman, the moment you march out, you will be a Sergeant. You are a Guardsman until the day you die. I hereby grant you obligatory leave for a full week to be with your domestic partner, and see to it that she gives birth to a healthy child to carry on your name." Essesohn betrayed no softness in his speech.

"Aye, by your leave, Lord Commissar, Lieutenant Kunst." the Guardsman held back his tears of excitement and gratitude and bowed.

XXX

The Guardsman walked down the great highway of Hive Tertiary of Orres Prime. The planet is home to no fewer than 120 billion individuals, divided into more than a hundred overcrowded hive cities interconnected by massive dockyards and subterranean flight-ways. Only Hives Primary, Secondary and Tertiary contained a starport or two, and these Hives are clustered at the equatorial latitude in what Orresians call the Central Complex. Everything on Orres Prime revolved around the well being of the Great Hives, and everything in the Great Hives revolved around the never ending business of import, export and distribution of what they call "real food".

"Sarai probably would like some real pickled mustard with Catadolian spices." the Guardsman arrived at a large purchaser's complex located midway in the spire. His rank entitled him access. A store assistant, uniformed in non-functional but decorative clothing, gave her best smile and asked: "Sir, would you require anything?"

"Thank you, young lady. I know what I need. Its…its just huge…" he looked at the stacks of consumer goods - holo-sets, personalized freezers, tanks of fresh water (and extra purification tablets for those in doubt) and toys for children, all underneath a blue sky complete with white fluffy clouds. This was his first time seeing anything like this. Orres Prime is entitled to a disastrous atmosphere. Grayish green blankets of choking moisture bring an almost constant torrent of highly chlorinated and fluorinated rain, a result of the intense mining for Or, something that's valuable for all the other planets and especially the Imperial administrative body. They call it gold, the metal that cannot be corrupted. Mere fantasy. All the gold on Orres Prime is found as a dirty looking raw mess with the consistency of fecal matter. Refinement is a necessary process, and it releases a great deal of halides into the atmosphere. Maybe it was last millennia when it happened, when the halide concentration reached a critical level and initiated the environmental cataclysm. It only took two centuries to complete the absolute transformation of Orres Prime from "verdancy" to a poisonous globe shrouded in a choking halide atmosphere. Not much survived beyond a few base organisms and the ingenious human race. The planet housed too many people and valuable resources to be lost to such minor disturbances as runaway atmospheric toxification, and Imperial builder fleets arrived just on time to accelerate the "Hiving" process. Hive Primary was the first, and housed the giant industrial centers that would spawn all the other Hives. Gold was no longer the major export as Orres Prime became a processing center for numerous raw materials shipped from all other Imperium worlds within five parsecs. And that includes fresh mustards and Cappadonian turmeric. The Agri-Worlds don't like manufacturing on their surfaces. Orres Prime will do all the dirty work for them.

"Sir?" the store assistant snapped the Guardsman from his thoughts.

"Oh, I am sorry, ma'am. It's beautiful. Say, do you happen to have pickled mustards and Cappadonian spices?" the Guardsman decided to go straight for the prey.

"Of course, sir. Recent exports of mustards have decreased greatly somewhat. It drove prices down. Even Triple-A export-only stocks lies stacked in the nitrogen freeze chambers." the lovely store assistant continued her smiling. Her job performance is probably rated on it. But it's a good smile and the Guardsman liked it, together with her pampered hair and skin. If only sweet Sarai had all these.

"Here we are, sir. Take your pick. I will be helping other purchasers." the assistant curtsied and hurried on her way, leaving the Guardsman to stare at the sheer variety of pickles. Mustard seems to be in plenty, but there's also stuff they call garlic, cucumbers, winter cabbages and all sorts of privileged foodstuffs he had never seen before. And not too heavily priced either, especially with his new paycheck as Sergeant of the Guards. He should probably buy some for his squad as well. They would love that very much.

XXX

The Guardsman, his arms now full from various purchases, struggled down the long alley way garnering curious stares from the Upper city dwellers. Another smiling assistant handed him a basket, and continued with her unending duty of guiding people to where they need to go. The counter lady, also smiling, raised her eyebrows as she aimed the las-browser over the two dimensional barcodes. "You intend to eat all this?"

"No, ma'am. Its for the squad, and my wife as well. She's pregnant, you know, and wouldn't eat anything besides heavily spiced pickles and Cappadonian porridge."

"You're a Guardsman?" the counter lady's smile changed a little. It was subtle, but he saw it.

"Yes, ma'am. My duty is to the Imperium."

The counter lady drew close, and whispered: "Haven't you heard about anything? All the regiments on Orres Prime were raised for only one purpose!"

"I am sorry, ma'am. A guardsman should not expose himself to civilian hearsay and rumors." the Guardsman instinctively pulled away. "I will pay by cash."

"Guardsman, whatever happens, may the Emperor always watch over you." she looked a bit sad.

"And you, too." he smiled, too, and walked away quickly with two large bag-load of purchases. Perhaps she has a lover serving in the Guards as well. Who knows.

There's a transport service exclusively for the uniformed, but it still took him more than an hour to get a ticket. While on the supersonic tube he tried not to look at the others or stir any trouble, given that he's riding with other Guardsmen. Most were recruited from the worst of Orres Prime, gangsters from the undercity who feared no Emperor, dealing in illegal wares, narcotics, abusing themselves and those around them. Regimental command recruited these men nonetheless, and sought to discipline them in every way possible. Those beyond control were granted the "back of the head" in full view of the regiments, and those were considered lucky. High Lord Potemnus VIII made an example of the 37th Company, guilty for engaging in "predatory activities against the civilian". The entire company was forced to "walk the regiments". None of them made it past ten companies, their naked bodies completely lacerated by their own fellows. It was a horrifying experience, but Potemnus made his point.

"Hey, fellow! Guy! What you have over 'ere?" a surly and bald brute towering at a meter and ninety asked. The Guardsman seemed not to notice.

"Hey, Big Scar's talking to you." a smaller framed soldier clad in fatigues enforced the big guy's authority. The Guardsman looked carefully. The smaller one is more compactly built and had corded muscles. His bald head and tattoo mark him as an ex-inmate. This one's probably more dangerous than the giant, and looked oddly familiar.

"Pickles."

"Pickles? 'Ere, show me what you got." the big one demanded, smiling menacingly and exhibiting two ugly rows of yellowed enamel. The Guardsman took out a vacuum pack of the spiced cucumbers and tossed it at the giant, who caught it in the air deftly.

"What pickles are these? Ne'er seen them before. You sure they're edible?"

"I'm sure."

"Guy, you got purples on you? We want to buy a few too." the smaller soldier asked. This request was immediately backed up by subtle change of posture in all the other Guardsmen around him. Potemnus' purples are standard Orres Prime currency, given that Gold has almost no value here, and neither do coins. These guardsmen intend to rob him blind. Some are already reaching for hidden blades secretly sewn into their sleeves and strapped in their gaiters, tricks they have learnt at correctional facilities.

"I wouldn't try anything if I were you, Julius." the Guardsman replied coldly, his laspistol already cocked and its barrel pressing hard at the chin of the smaller soldier, and his other hand holding a combat knife cold on the neck of Big Scar. "Yes, I do know you. The scum of the 27th Company. If you want to walk the regiment I am pleased to oblige you."

Julius stretched out his hand and lowered it slowly. Any guardsmen that have already stood up with their knives drawn proceeded to sheath their weapons. The gang leader was expecting an easy target, not some quick slinger. He used his eyes and mentioned the giant brute to return the vacuum sealed cucumber gingerly. "Everything's settled now, Guardsman. Don't want anything messy here. The 27th is always easy-going."

"We will sit down, quietly. Just to ensure you, striking a superior officer is a guaranteed trip. And don't think that you can break the record made by the 37th. The 117th couldn't even make it beyond the sixth, given that the First Decurions are getting better at what they're doing." the Guardsman still held his laspistol and combat knife tightly. Undercity truce can be broken the moment it is signed.

"No hate here, no bad blood. We're here just to party, a'ight, folks?" Julius squeezed out an awkward smile. A laspistol is exclusive to a ranked professional. A Sergeant, most likely, and an indefinitely tougher target than a simple recruit. Julius abandoned all plans. This is no mid-city small-time aristocrat.

"No hard feelings." Big Scar nodded as the combat knife left his throat. It left a small cut, nonetheless.

"Aye." some others joined it, grudgingly respectful of the Guardsman.

"So, Sarge, is that right?" Julius tried to alleviate the tension.

"That is right, reviewed by Lord Commissar Essesohn." the Guardsman has already put his laspistol back in its ornate leather pouch.

"Hrummph. Essesohn? The stone eater! You're a great man then. We all thought you're easy. You look soft and probably lovely in the rear." Big Scar commented. The tube exploded with laughter.

"Hey hey, now, Big Scar, ain't no dissing our friend here." Julius said. "A toast for sarge, if we have anything to toast with. Long live the undercity!"

"Aye! The Undercity, where the Emperor shows no light!" the men started singing their songs. It's all too familiar for the Guardsman. He knew the song by heart when he scampered down the gullies and twisting streets there as a child.

"The Undercity, where Potemnus ain't got rights!  
Where cultists squirm,  
Like bloody worms;  
Where witches burn,  
As the clockwork turns;  
Where harlots cost,  
A mere five purples!  
And it's where the Emperor shows no Light!" the Guardsman was surprised that he actually joined in the song. A few of the 27th gave him friendly punches, and respectful nods after his display of martial skills. As the men went off on more and more seedy and bawdy songs, Julius cocked his head arrogantly and said: "So, Sarge, which company do you slog for?"

"The 97th. Just be glad that if you can make it to the 20th, I am sure Potemnus would pardon you for your titanic displays of endurance."

"Hah! You got humor, Sarge. Ain't many high-gothic speakers like ye with that sense." Julius said.

"I am from the undercity as well." the Guardsman replied.

"You know, we thought you're some middle city bloke that blundered into the wrong tube…until you flashed the double quickdraw trick there. Fastest move I have seen, too. But carrying those large paper bags from the nice uptown stores ain't going to help you, you should know that."

"The Emperor's my shield. I need not fear."

"And now you talk like them, too. Sigh…" Julius patted the Guardsman on the shoulder. "Where you heading?"

"Hive 15, section 109."

"Don't sound too good. Pah, dats the playground of the Farties. Take care of yourself, Sarge. Them Farties just took over the middle low in Hive 15. Dunno how they got themselves some solid sluggers. Hive police initiated quarantine and have requested the Guardsman to enforce a military curfew."

"My day just sounds busier by the second."

"Nah. Dat's our job." Julius said. "We got batons and riot gear in the back…as if those are gonna work. But I prefer the torchlights. Can't wait to set the Farties on fire. But we can't access that until the rendezvous point. They have a lieutenant and his cronies looking after the arsenal. They don't trust any armed guardsman without a commanding officer, bro. They don't."

"Because they think you might rob a good man or two on the way. You're even doing it without lasguns or rifles."

"Hey, life's tough down here. You know that, too." Julius said. "There's 90 billion of us undercitizens on this scummy world. Who cares if one or two gets knocked on the head and his wallet lightened? They're pitting gangs against gangs. Tell you what, the gang war is designed and perpetrated to provide tough and trigger happy recruits like me, Wolfie, Stinker and Big Scar here. No one cares about the undercity besides its ability to feed the guards with cannon fodder. We spend most of the time preying on each other, and looking for a way out. That's our quandary, Sarge. But you probably won't buy this shit anymore, given that they brainwashed you already. Just be glad you're fast and tight. That's some quality all undercitizens respect. Ain't no badge or aquila gonna save you."

The Guardsman looked at Julius. There's no way to rebut this. He was one of the few undercitizens that managed to climb out of the general muck. Julius sounds a lot smarter than he's supposed to.


	2. Dark Murmurs

Chapter 002

_She's always beautiful_. Sarai is asleep. The Guardsman always enter the house quietly so as not to disturb her. The curtains are closed to somewhat dampen the noise and clamor from outside.

Section 109 of Hive 15 is located in the so-called Middle Low, the purgatory between the Middle and Spire and the dark depths of the Undercity. A rustic one room flat with private showers is all that the Guardsman could secure through his five years apprenticeship at Port Stymonson. The guards paid better, and granted a few more privileges. He is set to secure a new unit in Hive 8. At least that hive has a continuous supply of clean water.

"Oh, you're back?" an elfin girl looked up from her bed.

"I wish I could be back sooner." the Guardsman sat beside his pregnant wife and gently brushed away her dirty brown locks. Socks manufacturing plant alpha-kappa only allowed her leave in the third trimester.

"Lord husband…" Sarai said sleepily.

"Don't address me as lord, Sarai. Just husband would do." the Guardsman kissed her.

"It's what Mass taught us last week, lord. Obedience to your master and husband is the way of the wife, and to share his burdens with joy, and to give him warmth…Oh, I get ahead of myself. We've...I've done a lot of mistakes in the past, and atonement is all the more necessary." Sarai, like her husband, attended Mass without fail, even during her pregnancy. The Duties of Faith is compelling, and sincerity in the most difficult times carries the greatest rewards.

"Lady Sarai, would you want me to address you as a ranked noble too, then?" the Guardsman increased the serious nature of his tone. "Not everyone is born noble. To know our place, however small or great, is the prerequisite of knowing our Emperor."

"Yes, lord, I mean, love." Sarai bowed her head and looked like a little girl. The Guardsman held her in his eyes and admired the watery brown eyes, highlighted by soft blue eyeliner that he bought her last month. She will turn 18 next week, on the day that the Health Service predicted the birth of their child. Sarai is always excited about it. They worked hard for this, and things were looking up for the better, especially with the Guardsman's promotion.

"I will make dinner, Sarai." He got up and headed for the miniscule stove unit. It's a standard hive manufacture, with two electric heating tops. He took out a few pickle packets and proceeded to mix them in a big glass jar that he managed to acquire during one of his forays into the Middle City, cracking down on some cornered gang. Sarai likes them really sour and strong, and he heard from other older guardsmen and experienced fathers that it's better for the child too. Whatever that kills germs is good.

A cacophony of gunshots and human clamor penetrated the serene quiet of their residential unit. The Guardsman lifted the curtains slightly to observe the major disturbances 31 stories down. Sarai's curiosity brought her out of bed as well. Both of them stared down at the streets. The large illegal undercity militia made their gamble. They seemed to have brought out all their armed thugs and advanced through the streets with the efficiency of a trained army. It's not surprising. These underground militias probably had more combat experience than the average civilized world guardsman. A captured guardsman was being lynched right on the street, his struggling body hoisted onto a lamp post and used as target practice.

"The guards would give them no quarter now." the Guardsman commented through clenched teeth. "I wouldn't give them any."

"They have been doing this since two days ago." Sarai's reply was cold. She drawn the curtains shut and gave a possible explanation: "Potemnus issued a decree via cable that there will be a draft on Hives 15 through 29 and 51 through 72."

"Drafted men are the worst material for soldiery." the Guardsman tried to suppress his feeling of contempt. Volunteer gangsters in the guards are at least motivated. Rebellious gangsters that were drafted from the undercity or penal mine complexes are the ones that make up the trash of the 37th and 117th. Potemnus seemed to be oblivious to that fact. Either that, or the guards is really desperate for men, or as Julius put it, cannon fodder for some distant war. The Guardsman went back to his cooking. Porridge, re-stabilized offworld cattle milk and fried pickles will be on the menu today.

"I will set the table." Sarai moved gingerly around her husband.

"Did the foz persimmons you've been growing make anything at all?" the Guardsman asked. "We could use one fresh fruit…"

"Here it is!" Sarai lifted a potted plant happily. It looks as if it has grown nothing but leaves.

"Ok, we would settle for a leaf or two then." At least foz persimmon leaves taste decent when fresh, and Sarai has been taking very good of them. _She's always beautiful, and so will our children._

_XXX  
_

"The Duty of the Guard is to defend the Imperium. The rebel and traitor must be purged from the Hive." the Guardsman woke up to the sound of the faint buzz of the vox. He quickly plugged the headpiece in so as not to disturb Sarai, curled like a cat beside him.

"Hivemaster Jonstele has requested all active guardsmen to rendezvous at section 210. All forces from sections 120 down are commanded to fall back." the encrypted message can only be translated by the Departmento Munitorum-issue vox. Any guardsmen are required to keep the vox beside them at all times to receive emergency orders. It's not the first time such a request has been relayed. The Guardsman couldn't help but think of the Scumbags of 27th. _Let's hope they're doing fine._

"Sarai, Sarai…" the Guardsman shook his wife gently. She moaned a bit and muttered something about the time. "I have to get back to something. Keep the doors shut." Sarai opened her eyes and struggled to get up.

"So soon? You only came back…" Sarai looked at the digital clock. "Five hours ago!"

"Pray for my safe return, Sarai, and that the Emperor's Justice be done." the Guardsman replied.

"I will, you know I will." Sarai said sadly. The Guardsman hated that look, because it always softens his resolve and makes him hesitate, even before Imperial decree and order. He could not peel his eyes or heart away from this petite elf that stole his heart. She was in his arms in an instant, and he quickly gave her three kisses on the forehead, her freckled nose and her lips.

"I will be back as quickly as possible."

XXX

Nothing looks optimistic. The Guardsman treaded carefully through the shattered streets littered with bodies and burnt vehicles. Both engaged parties had retreated to lick their wounds, leaving the spoils of battle to the scavengers who paid him no heed. It's not surprising for him. Section 109 held no value whatsoever, just a few residential blocks and completely assailable on all sides. He eventually caught up with the 87th, reduced to three quarters fighting strength and lost 11 of their comrades. Shattered men without their sergeants and platoons carrying their dead and dying trudged down the highway to section 210, their eyes dreary and their will smashed by the sheer brunt that they bore. Hive command and the regimental tactica had miscalculated the strength of the illegal militia they call the 'Farties'. The imperial forces resorted to military curfew and martial law in areas still under their control.

The grand plaza of section 210 was densely packed with guardsmen units drawn from nearby hives, given that the indigenous companies were probably smashed or had to reorganize. Chimera armored transports and Sentinels were brought up and getting warmed up by their crewmen. Maintenance crews under the cybernetic monstrosity they call an Engineseer made rounds around the armored corps, reciting liturgies to the Machine Spirit. The Orresian 11th regimental colors fluttered along with the powerful ventilation blasts that made the air breathable. Regimental Command with its majestic imperial livery oversaw the reorganization process from the rooftops of Section Parliamentary, a imposing architectural triumph of marble and bedecked with Imperial symbols. The Guardsman began to feel the serious nature of this confrontation. Something is getting way out of hand, something that haunted him still.

"Sergeant!" a harsh voice bellowed from beside him. "You there, Sergeant, name your unit!"

"The 97th, Lord Commissar!" the Guardsman clacked his heels together and saluted at the officer uniformed in Imperial Red with his characteristic tall peaked hat. His single beady eye scanned him quickly. An empty socket of scars is in place of the other.

"Keep the aquila tucked under your flak suit, sergeant. I would not want you to lose the symbol of our most Holy Emperor in the heat of battle!" the Commissar grunted. "The 97th is shattered. The company command is wiped out. They even lost their standards. Now where were you when your own fellows gave their lives to defend the Imperium?"

All of a sudden that lynched guardsman he saw a few hours ago looked oddly familiar. "Lieutenant Kunst?"

"Kunst is dead. The thrice-damned pict-captures of your filthy hive caught the footage. The heretics burnt him after slugging him with fifty standard kilos of slugs, along with the company colors and even an aquila. I have all reason to execute you now, seeing you here happy and grinning like an idiot and deserter. Give me a reason why you are still alive and in one whole piece before I send you to face justice." the Commissar related the events.

"I was under a forty standard hours review and is now in obligatory leave from Lord Commissar Essesohn." the Guardsman quickly took out a finely folded piece of nice paper. The Commissar read it and then tore it to pieces.

"Your obligatory leave is now overridden, Sergeant." the Commissar gruffly said. "Report to whatever's left of your damnable 97th." The Guardsman quickly saluted and left. It took him a while to weave through the reorganizing companies with all that cacophony. Flat faced Essesohn stood like a statue, ignoring the fifty-four odd men still capable of combat of the 97th. Needless to say he was disappointed at their performance. What was once a two hundred strong company has lost more than half their men killed and was effectively reduced to quarter strength. The men, low in spirits, either sat or lay around on the plaza.

"Hey! Church-boy!" Boyle Young waved his hand. Boyle is a guardsman that came from Hive 67. He also worked in the dockyards and is quick at arithmetic, at least for guardsman standards. He always wanted to apply for the armored corps. His other arm is roughly bandaged, and there are serious dent holes on his flak suit. Nevertheless, the appearance of the Guardsman brought some optimism to his spirits.

"You will address him as Sergeant, recruit." Essesohn suddenly swung around and stared down on Boyle. "Guardsman, to be honest I wasn't expecting you, alive, that is."

"The rebels just marched through section 109, Lord Commissar."

"In other sections the rebels not only marched through…they also scoured everything that's there before retreating to the Undercity proper. I am surprised that 109 went unscathed." Essesohn said grimly. "Regimental tactica underestimated the 'Farties', or whatever stupid retarded thing they call themselves." _Sarai? I need to get her out of there. _"Don't worry about civilians, Guardsman. Evacuation orders has been issued and are being enforced at this very moment. It's the Undercity we're worried out. We can't risk getting anyone out of there. But you only need to know that the Middle-Low is safe. Your domestic partner is safe." Essesohn seemed to be able to read his mind.

"What of the 97th, sir? What happened?"

"The company is to be dissolved the very moment they lost their standards and the company lieutenant. The surviving men are to serve under penal companies and carry the badge of shame." Essesohn replied without emotion. "And that includes you, Guardsman." Men of the 97th murmured but hardly stirred. Boyle looked outright disappointed. Mick "Sharpeyed" is incensed. Janus Bring "Me Some Slosh" scratched idly on the paved concrete floor with his knife.

"Lord Commander, as sergeant I protest this command!" the Guardsman retorted. Essesohn's eyes turned hard. He took off one of his gloves and brushed his coat aside to show that he is armed with the 'executioner's pistol'.

"You know who are you challenging, here, Guardsman? Regimental command. That's right." Essesohn's voice now sounded extremely dangerous. "Look at these lowborn bastards. They've dishonored themselves and Kunst. You could dishonor your own mothers tomorrow if we let you all get away with it."

"I protest, too! We could have pulled through if not for the treason of the locals!" Mick bellowed. "The 15-ers of 97th turned traitor in the midst of battle!"

"And that's half the entire force!" Boyle echoed. "They dropped Sarge Olsen and Lieutenant Kunst before we even know what's going on. I saw them shoot Kunst right in the leg!"

"Say, isn't Church-boy a 15-er as well?" Bern Hertz, the company grenadier, commented. A few of the 97th began to eye the Guardsman with a suspicion. Most, however, stared at Bern with less than negative feelings. Such standoffs make the Guardsman queasy.

"Shut your crap hole, Bern. Still think you're too high and mighty for us?" Boyle retorted. "Or is it because Church-boy's got the posting you want?"

"And you shut your crap, Boyle. You probably sleep with Church-boy when he's not sleeping with his little slut of a wife." Bern was open about his general hostility towards the Guardsman. That hostitilty was extended to the Guardsman's friends.

"You will address your superiors appropriately. This one as Sergeant." Essesohn reminded. "I don't care what your reasons are. You should have fought and died, and restore the name of the 97th. The 27th was the first to bore the brunt and was completely obliterated in the field. You shame yourselves by crawling back with your tail tucked between your legs." Essesohn then turned to the Guardsman. "You think you can lead this mish-mash battered junk pile into the maws of death again? Think carefully, Guardsman. I don't think they even trust you."

"No, Lord Commissar, Church-boy, I mean, Sergeant, I know him! I trust him with a rifle when I'm asleep. Fuck that, I trust him with my virgin sister. This man knows honor." Boyle began to see a glimmer of hope. The last words of the Commissar gave him the solution.

"You don't have a virgin sister, Boyle!" Mick hooted.

"Shut yer crap, Mick!" Boyle replied.

"Aye! Church-boy Sarge! I'd follow him everywhere. He'd pickle us to death, but I'd still follow him everywhere." old man Kilburn nodded. He's the oldest soldier in the company, and taught the Guardsman everything about pregnant women. Janus Bring raised his knife in approval. Mick stood up and chanted: "Church-boy Sarge! Church-boy Sarge!" others joined in as Bern spat disgustedly and snuck away.

"Very well…" Essesohn said grudgingly, or appeared to have said grudgingly. The Guardsman knew how to look at people. The Commissar is actually pleased with this. "You still have three and a quarter standard Terran hours to recuperate. General muster and field regimental review will initiate promptly then. Guardsman, come by the command post of 1st company at least an hour before then. I need to talk with you."

"Hail Lord Commissar Essesohn!" the men cheered. "Hail the 97th!" frankly, anything's better than the penal companies where they were not only treated like cannon fodder – they were expected to be cannon fodder.

XXX

The Guardsman trudged through the lines of men, burdened by the tales heard from his company mates. Two hours ago the whole thing's a mess, a cauldron of men seized by various emotions. The various company attaché commissars manage to whip the broken companies up to fighting capacity with a few company level executions. The new regiments were already drawn up and ready for review, chin-high and ready to prove their manhood. The command center of the 1st company occupied the inner sanctum of the Section Parliamentary, where the data archives were warmed up and ready for access.

Essesohn was checking civilian grade holo-maps with a face attached magnifier and holo-manipulator. The entire Middle City was extremely detailed. But the same cannot be said of the Undercity. It's all a mess down there and the Guardsman could already see a number of blatant errors without the manipulator. The city planners clearly never visited the Undercity and relied on guesswork to come up with this shameful excuse of a map. Standing tall beside Essesohn was regimental commander Lord Colonel Louis Model of the Orresian 11th, noble born but raised in the most militant environment to live up to his great martial house. Model was a man of fifty eight with no evidence of excess body fat whatsoever. His thick sideburns moved up and down as he chewed something in his powerful square jaws. Probably foz cattle sinew. Lieutenant Colonel Henson Model was his son, assigned to the First Battalion of the 11th. Thirty years of age and completely bald like his father, the younger Model seemed to be extremely frustrated and paced up and down the retinue. Sitting quietly at the side is 1st Company Commander Major Reeve Stoic. Reeve's old peaked cap is distinctive, as was his titanium alloy replacement of his frontal scalp. Neglected and ignored, Hivemaster Jonstele looked unusually dejected in his plump and lavish attire. Surrounding this command squad was numerous adjunct officers and scribes processing orders of the commanders. And last but not least, mechanical servitors, an amalgam of human and machine reduced to semi-sentient status, providing the various technical working of the holomap, data processors and relaying information from the planetary archives.

"97th company, 8th platoon Sergeant reporting for duty, Lord Colonel Louis Model, Lieutenant Colonel Henson Model, Lord Commissar Essesohn, Major Reeve Stoic…" the Guardsman began the obligatory display of rank respect. He's surprised to find the regimental commander here at the level of company headquarters.

"Enough, Guardsman. You're the only man familiar with Hive 15 Undercity that we have confidence of trust, as guaranteed by Lord Commissar Essesohn. Hivemaster Jonstele could not help us much." the older Model addressed him directly, cutting the Guardsman off before he could salute the Hivemaster.

"What can you tell us about the undercity, Guardsman?" the younger Model demanded. Regimental Command never requests.

"Lord Model, I can tell you that the map is wrong."

Essesohn looked up from his intensive study. He took off the holo-manipulator and tossed it to the Guardsman. "Show us where, and make the necessary corrections."

"This could all have been avoided if the Hivemaster respected his duty." Model the Older said in a rather rude way. "Is it not surprising, that every single guardsman recruit from the undercity of hive 15 turned coat, and those that didn't were almost always killed on the spot by their peers?"

"Louis, I reviewed this one personally. You should trust Imperial judgment."

"Whatever your Cadian specialties, Lord Commissar. I don't trust any of the 15-ers after this major debacle. I don't trust them at all." Model the Younger was a known hot-shot. His outburst did not prevent the Guardsman from his duty. He was partially trained in the usage of holo-manipulators, and quickly highlighted the wrong tunnels.

"There, and there. The waste chutes should not connect at all. In fact, the waste chutes from the Middle City ends up here, what we call 'The Emperor's Potty'." the Guardsman ended the chutes at the center of a ghetto complex in the undercity. Reeve Stoic stood up and stared at the correction, while the Models were somewhat aghast.

"Be careful of what you say, soldier. The Emperor's name cannot be sullied." Henson Model threatened.

"Yes, Lord." the Guardsman only just realized he made a mistake.

"Lord Commissar Essesohn," Reeve Stoic interjected, "interesting boy you have here."

"Stoic, let the boy continue. Henson, he's telling us everything he knows, and he's the only source we have." the Commissar had an unusual aura of respect, even in the regimental level.

"Lords, as I was saying, the sewage and waste treatment facilities were out of service for as long as I can remember, but it has always been a gathering place. Hundreds…no, at least thousands swarm to this place every now and then." the Guardsman tried to remember pieces of his childhood, scampering down the dirty streets, climbing through the gigantic sewage pipes that no longer carried its foul contents, and listening to the songs of praise that echoed down the tunnels unceasingly.

"A gathering every now and then? Of what? What leads the gathering? What compels it? What is its purpose?" the Commissar suddenly grew livid and bellowed: "We could have avoided this debacle if we treated it like the abomination it actually is! 'Farties'? PAH!" His display startled the Guardsman. The limited regimental command was similarly shocked.

"Lord Commissar…" the Guardsman stammered.

"Continue. Tell us all you know! This is not a request. If your answers prove unsatisfactory I can get a sanctioned psyker from planetary command down here and rip that information from your pathetic brain." Essesohn continued his thunderous and unforgiving tirade.

"Yes, Lord Commissar. Whatever you call the 'Farties', they generally leave everyone alone...NO! They don't leave everyone alone. They're organized, and reach out to people they deemed vulnerable to swell their ranks, always praising Gramps in everything they do. Everything's revolved around the Undercity. They're self sufficient to a degree that's almost unimaginable. They could make everything there in the plants. I don't know how…"

"Gramps? Have you met him? Who is this Gramps?"

"I don't know, Lord Commissar. They tried to have me in when I was eight. It was repulsive. Something's not right about them."

"What is not right about them?"

"The smell, the sores, and how the diseased never seem to die when under their care. Their songs…they sing songs too…" the Guardsman was beginning to feel the burden of his gruesome memories, and began to shake uncontrollably.

"What happened? How did you escape?" Essesohn's glare softened, and it seemed to give him encouragement now.

"Maniac...the Priest..." the Guardsman felt a wave of emotions coming up through his throat. The psychic scarring flared anew through his brain, releasing what he had locked away for years. His knees went soft as he struggled to keep on his legs. "They've seized him...God...and now they want more..."

"The Maniac…" Essesohn nodded to the servitor as he pulled the Guardsman up and dumped him on a chair unceremoniously. The semi-sentient human computer made a database search back to 20 years, and having failed it went back to 30 years, and then started to gather data from worlds of star system Orres. "End search, and start a new one. This time, try Wilhelm Feld Pickering." The search ended quite rapidly with a few hits.

"Wilhelm Feld Pickering, attaché priest of the 29th Armageddon. The regiment was nearly annihilated in the last Ork invasion. Wilhelm Feld Pickering was reprimanded along with the entirety of the command squad, assigned to penal correction under the Ecclesiarchy in the Uzil system." the younger Model read the data through the holo-screen.

"Not too far from here." Louis Model reminded.

"Pickering still preached during his indenture, was considered heretical and sent to Orres Prime as part of his extended sentence."

"They called him the Maniac in Armageddon." Essesohn rubbed his temples in an attempt to stimulate his mind. "The way they treat men of faith…"

"Do not doubt the judgments of the Ecclesiarchy, Lord Commissar." Louis Model reminded.

"So this heretical Maniac saved this kid. And what has it got to do with this?" Henson doesn't feel that any of this is useful. "We should just request more armor, perhaps a tank company of Lemans, and smash our way in. It's even easier now. Given that the way they dealt with the Aquila and a company lieutenant, we need not show mercy anymore. Collaterals are now completely acceptable, and even expected."

"Silence, boy!" Essesohn barked while trying to comfort the Guardsman by patting his back. Henson shut his mouth immediately, with the older Model giving him an equally unforgiving look. "This is not rebels we're dealing with. This is an infiltration of heresy of the most serious nature. Half a regiment might not even be enough. Lemans might be useful, but I am requesting the Adeptus Astartes and the Ordos Hereticus."


	3. The Fraternity

Chapter 003

Regimental review and in field inspections was over in less than an hour. The 97th was severely reprimanded and disgraced before the entire regiment, along with the 87th, the 119th and 62nd. The Guardsman felt fortunate, however, given that none of them were given penal sentence. Instead, they were given a chance to redeem themselves against the rebels. They would form the first line in the purgatory of the Middle Low. There will be no assault or any offensive action. The Guards would do what they do best: dig and wait.

The 97th was assigned to section 63. Undercity proper begins at section 60, making this area dangerously close. The men found it to be murderously close. What remained of the 27th were strung up amidst the ruins of a shattered strong house that seemed to be their final stand. Big Scar's body was dangling from a lamp post, his body mutilated and defaced with repulsive symbols of the eight pointed star. His wide chest was crudely carved away to display a macerated triad of circles. The 27th company aquila and color was piled below, and defaced with human waste and what came out of Big Scar's carcass.

"This is gross." Boyle Young said as they brought Big Scar's body down and cremated it on the field, along with fifty odd bodies of the 27th. They couldn't find Julius. Other men of the 97th proceeded to disinfect the place with standard issue bleach powder. Airborne agent alert sirens are oddly silent, though.

"And this whole place stinks. Foul." Mick said, trying to adjust the scope on his modified las-rifle. It has an extended range of another 100 meter or so. The Orresian plants were given clearance to modify imperial issue small arms within Departmento Munitorum guidelines. Extended range meant that it used up power faster, and company sharpshooters always had to carry extra batteries.

"Yo, Church-boy Sarge." old man Kilburn patted the Guardsman on his shoulder. "Cheer up. Did Company Command say anything bad?"

"No…nothing, old pal. Everything's fine." the Guardsman shook his head and concentrated on scrubbing the aquila and the company colors of the 27th, well on their way of complete restoration. Essesohn named him 'effective Lieutenant' for the 97th in place of Kunst. The survival of the entire company now depended on him. The second de facto promotion felt like a massive block of granite on his shoulder. _I need to see them through, and restore the 97__th_

"Church-boy, no worries. You're fine, you know." Kilburn tried to console him. "You got something that none of us had, even Kunst didn't have it. They don't call you Church-boy for nothing. The Emperor protects the faithful, and those around him. You're our living talisman."

"Aye." Janus Bring said while whetting his combat blade with a piece of stone. The Guardsman stared down on the long deserted highway, choked by a grayish yellow miasma that's all too familiar for the undercity of Hive 15. Except this time it smelled awfully different. Factories that slept for three decades were now belching out massive columns of smoke. Forty eight hours have past since the first Guards assault was overrun. The 'Heretics of Rot', as Essesohn has put it, have planned this at least years in advance. Potemnus' decree had nothing to do with it. The 'draft riot' was a mere diversion. _And a very clever one._

"Church-boy Sarge! Men approaching from rear. Code 'Fluoride Bleach'. They identified themselves as 1st Company." Greg 'Boomer' the 97th company vox-man shouted as he struggled through the narrow trenches. Greg has always been in charge of the vox, an unwieldy device reputed to be tougher than Chimera rear armor, and functional under most situations. Only a strong man with a strong back could carry it around effectively, and carrying it essentially meant that one's taken out of combat. Departmento Munitorum and the Machine Cults never bothered to refine Guards equipment.

"Put me through, Greg." the Guardsman said. Greg tossed him the head piece from the Company vox. Reeve's voice came out clear.

"Church-boy, is that what they call you? Reeve here, ETA 15. Damn this fog. Did someone crawl up here and shit a load of their gramps' crap?"

"Major Reeve, I am honored. We found the colors of the 27th. No serious infection found. Mostly just old human waste." the Guardsman said. He read from an old tome that an ancient terran animal also enjoyed playing with its own fecal matter. Otters or beavers. He can't really remember.

"Well, great. Give it a wash. You might need it."

"I did."

"Well, use it. All Guards need a standard to rally around. Make sure you don't lose it again. The 27th Company Lieutenant was executed by Lord Commissar Wittsburgh for that, you know, as well as abandoning his men. Anyway, I can see your position, I think. Reeve out."

"Major, wait, there's something important. I am sending someone to guide you through the Purgatory. The heretics mined the place through and through."

"Fine." Reeve's voice sound more at ease now. The Guardsman could hear Reeve bellowing orders to stay put and retract to defensive formation to his men. "Waiting for you. Reeve out."

The Guardsman tossed back the head piece, and hoisted the standards up. The two headed eagle that composed the aquila appeared to be unfazed through its ordeal. The colors clean, but terribly faded by the bleach. He could feel a sudden elevation of his confidence and spirit.

"Men of the 97th, attention!" the Guardsman has a powerful and resonating voice. Perfect attendance at Mass gave the necessary vocal training. The Guards stood up to receive their orders from the 'effective Lieutenant'.

"Send a recce squad to the rear to receive the 1st Company, and guide them through the way we took. Follow the shit path, since it's the only guaranteed trail that's not mined. The rest of you prepare for guard shifts."

"Aye, Church-boy!" Mick the sharpshooter was head of the company reconnaissance. A five-man squad followed Mick and disappeared quickly in the charred jungle of concrete and steel. The rest of the company either manned various heavy weapon emplacements or found somewhere comfortable enough to curl up and fall asleep in.

XXX

It was almost another hour before Reeve's 1st Company arrived. The 1st Company was completely comprised of storm troopers, guardsmen armored in carapace armor with a grim look about them. So far only the prima-deca, or First Decurion, companies were the ones that trained in the militarized Hive 4. When the 37th walked the regiment, eighty men dropped dead when they went through the first company. The second company claimed another eighty (already heavily wounded), and the next eight companies did the rest. Reeve himself was an offworlder, and his titanium skull piece without the scalp was distinctive. No one knew what did that, or how. And no one wanted to know. _The man that lead the scourge-men of Orresian 11__th_

"Church-boy! Cry-baby!" Reeve laughed as he patted the Guardsman heavily on the shoulder. "Haha. You had me walk through shit. I will kill you and rape your wife for this." The 1st Company proceeded to reinforce the trench with more men, anti-personnel heavy bolters, belt fed grenade launchers and established a few more sniper positions on either side of the building. The entire company ran as smoothly as a brand new engine, proof of Reeve's leadership.

"Major Reeve." the Guardsman tried to salute. _He looks too happy to be right._

"Can't get off that addiction to Imperial ritual, aye? Very well." Reeve saluted back and said quietly: "They hit sections 72 through 78. The 119th was dissolved on the field by Essesohn. The line re-stabilized at section 76. Thank the Emperor for the Ultras."

"That means we're…"

"Not here, Church-boy." Reeve signaled with fast, somewhat indistinct movements with his hands. Orresian officers are expected to know at least three formats of silent speech, a combination of body language and hand movements. "Dang, boy doesn't sound right. I will just call you Church…or Priest. Which one do you prefer? Haha!" Reeve hid the real intended signal with usual jest. He's trying to keep the spirits easy and morale high.

"I still go for whatever the men of 97th call me."

"That's right, Church-boy Sarge!" Boyle voiced his approval from his autocannon position. "Long live the 97th."

"Well, you have the colors of the 27th here. No matter. Both will live through the actions of the 97th." Reeve wrapped his arms around the Guardsman's shoulders and dragged him away to the rear communication trenches, where Greg the vox-man was dozing off and got a smack to his nose from Reeve. Mick was talking about guns, as usual, with the recce squad of the 1st Company. The pair made their way to the make-shift command post, a fortified screening booth that was used to check individuals coming out of the Undercity.

"Lieutenant Maine, this is Church-Boy." Reeve nodded to a smooth-faced man polishing his carapace with some grease and a piece of rag. "He's the highest in command of the 97th and the 27th Company now."

"Standard fortification protocols are all followed to the letter. Impressive." Maine nodded. His carapace shone briefly for a while until a layer of gunk started to attach itself to its surface. "Fucking fog you have here too." The Guardsman looked carefully at the man named Maine, who was most certainly around his age. Maine looked curiously back, his eyebrows tensing for a moment as he studied the acting Lieutenant of the 97th. Something inside the Guardsman reminded him that this character must be taken seriously.

"The fog comes from the manufacturing cluster of the undercity." the Guardsman explained. "They got the plants working again. I don't know how it escaped notice."

"Best you know less, Church." Maine said. "Your name is Church?"

"It's…"

"Not important, Lieutenant. Just call him whatever you want." Reeve said. "The situation is pretty grim. The men of the 1st dealt with mobsters and organized gangs in the other Hives, and the combat simulation in Hive 4 with live targets of gang Hruva probably helped. But this is something of different nature, not to mention the other special training. The way and the speed they hit sections 72 to 78 meant that there's someone familiar with our tactics on the other side. It also meant that the 97th, 87th and 62nd are now completely cut off."

"No shit, Major." Maine appeared non-chalant and tried to polish his carapace again, and gave up when the rag started to stick to the armor. "These rotten anal explosive trash have brains. Probably in their ass."

"Church-boy, does it seem clear to you now?"

"Yes, Major Reeve and Lieutenant Maine. They intend to pocket us and swallow the three half-broken companies. Morale would collapse once the companies found out they're trapped. Given their previous advantage against us, they would expect easy persuasion."

"Fabulous. But not quite. Why are we here?" Reeve asked.

"To reinforce the 97th, make it a magnet of massed Heretic assault as the main force attempt a pincer drive. They used this tactic in the Hive 28 uprising, and also in the third battle for Florentine Beta." _This is covered in the Imperium Tactica Volume IV._

"You read a lot, don't you?" Maine rubbed his nose and flicked away a wad of facial dirt. "Too much for your sake."

"Probably more than you try to polish your face, Lieutenant." Reeve chuckled. "Now, Guardsman, the 1st company could hardly care about any company ending with a 7. We all know these undercity companies are not even worth half an Orresian purple."

"Well, Private 1st Class Boyle Young is not really an undercitizen…" _But I am…sort of._

"Exceptions don't make the rule, Church." Maine reminded. "And a company is characterized by its leader."

"Major Reeve, I am sure that you're going need every single man that could carry a gun right now." the Guardsman said. "And you definitely need us, given that we know the Undercity of Hive 15 better than others."

"Correction: YOU know the Undercity of Hive 15 better than others. Regimental command doesn't care about the trash of the 97th. Regimental Command only demands a guide, and that means YOU. We don't intend to defend this position, or any position at all." Reeve hammered the Guardsman's flak suit with his gloved fingers. "Your best bet is to leave this company to the Emperor's Will. Order them to buy us time and go with us."

"I can't abandon my men, Major Reeve. That is the first motto of the Sergeant."

"You're an 'effective Lieutenant', Church." Maine reminded.

"All the more reason to stay with them." the Guardsman doesn't back down on this issue. Mick, Greg, Boyle, Kilburn, even Bern Hertz "His Assness". Honor demanded that the Guardsman stick with them at all costs.

"Well, we could take you by force if necessary. Sections 63 through 67 are undefendable. If we stay here, we die. All of us. Or the 97th could cover the advances of the 1st Company and we could do our job of penetrating your 'Potty Tube' and make a direct assault on the Treatment Plants." Reeve said. "Hey, don't look at me like that, Church-boy. I only received the order fifty minutes ago."

"Major Reeve, if you were given the order to abandon your company and leave them without a proper leader to act as cannon fodder for another, would you do it?" the Guardsman asked a simple question. Maine raised his eyes and looked at Reeve. There was an awful period of silence.

"No…I won't." Reeve finally stood by the Guardsman's decision. The answer somewhat made Maine more confident. "I don't know why Regimental command gave such an order. Perhaps you're right, Church-boy. Expecting others to sacrifice for you is utmost shame. You know how I got this skull plate? Maine, you never asked, and so I never said anything. But I think you should know too."

"Well, Major, you have your reasons."

"I was executed once and left for dead on the field of Mossberg. The Commissar overestimated the strength of the guards against the pincer-horrors there and picked someone random to boost the morale. It didn't kill me, but I was knocked out cold. When I woke everyone's dead. I couldn't find the Commissar's body anywhere."

"No shit, Major." Maine was surprised.

"We won in Mossberg. That's the bottom line. The locals named a hill after me." Reeve seemed to be rather fond of that memory. "The regimental command was there at the right time with their binoculars to see this semi-dazed soldier with a hole in his head, trudging with a battered flag, shooting at soon-to-be-pincer-corpses, climbing Reeve's hill and plunging the standards of Mossberg 18th on the highest point. They decorated me for outstanding service, an Honorifica Imperialis." Reeve pointed to the skull totem badge that he screwed onto his carapace.

"But Major, this has nothing to do with leaving your companions, doesn't it?" the Guardsman asked.

"No, but it would have been better if they were all there. And to be strict, I did leave them, forever." Reeve sounded sad. "Once a guard, always a guard. Nothing's going to change that. We're a fraternity of the most massive size, and with our flesh and blood we provide the mortar and brick that built the walls of the Imperium."

"Aye! Hail the Guards! All praise to the Emperor!" Maine raised his rag. He said that with less emotions than a shut door.

"Well, Guardsman, we all move out after two standard terran hours . Half a hundred men of the 97th aren't going to provide any sensible delays, especially without you. They probably turn traitor the very moment the Farties show up. I seriously don't know what the regimental command is thinking sometimes. Must be Henson's idea." Reeve tried to inject more humor into the atmosphere.

"Regimental commanders have their restrictions. They're not at the front lines, and henceforth are limited in their scope." the Guardsman said.

"And that's completely right. But the Guardsman duty is to obey and follow." Reeve shook his head. "Oh and by the way, leak my story out and I will have you executed."

"No problemo." Maine said.

"What story?" the Guardsman feigned a confused appearance and all three laughed heartily. The laughter was cut short by the wail of the airborne agent warning.

"Mask on, guys. We dallied too long. We will sit for a bit, beat this attack off, I think." Maine said.

"Well, you know what, Maine? Command doesn't think. Command decides. Quit your thinking and get the colors, not a step back. ULLA!" Reeve shouted as he secured the straps of his gas mask. An ululating chant can be heard at a distance.

"This is rich." the Guardsman said through the muffling filters. He has already secured his mask way before his two companions. "I have to be in the front, and I will see you…maybe in an hour."

"Church-boy Sarge! Incoming!" Boyle Young sound really excited behind his mask. "And this time there ain't no messing up."

"What? You have to be louder! I can't hear you!" the Guardsman bellowed in return, patting Boyle Young at the back. Boyle mans an autocannon complete with a modified feeder mount that could easily take a small sized Departmento Munitorum issue 25 mm shell box. It's something he fixed and he always wanted to show the Departmento Munitorum. He never had the chance, but he at least got the chance to try it on the field this time. The entire company's arsenal was brought out. There would be no underestimation of the enemy this time, at least with Boyle manning the center. Greg 'Boomer' stood next to Boyle, helping with the reloading, and still hoisting the vox on his massive back.

"What is that fucking weird song they're singing?" Bern Hertz cursed. The ululating chant from a distant is extremely unsettling, and despite its faintness, it is hammering itself into his very nerves. The same could be said of all Guardsmen around him, and not even the 1st Company was spared. All felt unease in their guts.

"This song is infused with heresy! We will give them the 1st Company's Manifesto in return!" Reeve arrived at the overseeing position with Maine carrying the standard of the 1st Company, along with the 1st company vox-man.

"ULLA!! Fuck the mutant and the heretic.

Smash the insects and filthy ticks.

Burn their fucking hives and stinking shacks,

And send us dogs right on their backs!

We will smash, burn and bite

To show our Emperor's Right!

Hail the Emperor on Earth

And Hail Reeve Stoic's 1st! ULLA!!"

"Sing along! Trash of the 97th! Show us and them rotten farties that you're men!" Reeve shouted through the vox-phone.

"Looks like the 87th and 62nd turned traitor." Boyle Young said as he tried to squint through the eye piece of his mask. The standards of the 87th and 62nd are now covered with the triple circle and eight pointed star, hoisted by men that are eager to prove their new allegiance. The Guardsman relayed that information to Reeve quickly.

"We fuck the traitors first. And we fuck them hard! Give them hell at my command." the vox boomed with Reeve's powerful voice. The Guardsman drew his chainsword and activated it. The heavy cough and buzz of the Ryza pattern electromotor is oddly comforting. The traitor guardsmen hesitated for a while when they saw the standards of the 1st Company. Gunshots rang out from their rear and they were urged onwards as a disorganized throng.

"Shoot the standard bearers. The traitor Guardsmen are worse men than us." the Guardsman relayed his command to Mick, hiding with the recce squad on the fifth floor of some building. Crouching besides Boyle, Janus Bring cocked his rifle for the ninth time. He's knife whetting tricks and silent demeanor were just cover-ups. He's just as nervous as everybody else.

"In range, Church-boy." Mick's steady voice replied.

"Wait for Reeve's command." the Guardsman reminded. The 1st Company stood as still as statues, not wishing to give away any position of the heavy weapon emplacements.

"ULLLA!" Reeve shouted in his native tongue. The line came alive with intense bursts of las fire and cannon shells. The traitor guardsmen swarmed forward in a big mess, stumbling upon their own dead and setting off mines. The traitor standards were snapped right off at the shaft, a tribute to Mick's obsessive gunnery training. The 1st and 97th recce squad made their fire and scoot, following sniper protocols. The dead and dying traitors dangled on the barbed wires, but they did not seem to give up. Janus Bring was hit on the chest by a slug shell, grunting as he fell down, panting: "I'm hit! I'm hit!" The 1st Company took it pretty well. They didn't seem fazed at all. For the 54 men of the 97th, it was brutal. Some of them were already cowering behind the trench.

"Get up! Janus, you ain't bleeding at all! See how you cower! Kunst would be sorry if he sees that!" the Guardsman hoisted Janus back up and got him shooting at whatever that's coming at them again. He ran down the trench and dragged the broken men back up to firing position. His presence gave the men a measure of confidence, and if it didn't work, he reminded them of Papa Kunst, the deceased Lieutenant that the men left for dead to shame them back into action. Kilburn was his last stop. The old soldier allowed the enemy to come within a dangerously close range before sending jets of liquid fire on them. The Guardsman saved Kilburn from a pain maddened traitor with his chainsword, hacking his limbs and head off in two crude swipes. Within fifteen minutes of brutal fighting, the traitor assault collapsed in a confused mass of men trying to run for their lives and another mass trying to push forward. In the end, the demand for retreat prevailed, leaving over a hundred bodies in the 200 meter range beyond the first trench.

Reeve looked down from his position at the 97th, shaking his head. "Pathetic!"

"You might want to remind them that they're men through the vox." Maine suggested.

"Alright, you fucking scumbags of the 97th! Looks like we of the 1st underestimated you! You're more men than we thought. Heck! You can probably fuck my sister!" Reeve bellowed. The 1st Company cheered in approval. The 97th felt strangely heartened. Being called a man by a superior is probably the best compliment a guardsman could receive. "But it ain't over yet. From my position there's at least a thousand of them waiting to die at our hands. They probably should have sent ten thousand. A thousand is not even an hour's work for me! Death, death and more death. That's what we will give them. Give them the cleansing fire and the Emperor's hammer!"

"ULLA!!" the 1st and 97th shouted in unison. And then a shower of bloated rotten carcasses began to rain down. Most disintegrated in mid air, splattering its foul content over the dead and dying caught between the traitors and the guards. Amorphous amoebas of pus and flesh that bear little resemblance of human innards began to crawl out of these corpses. These creeping horrors are attracted to the living, forcing themselves down the throat of the dying traitors and killing them by ripping themselves out of the poor soul's throat or abdomen.

"What the fuck is that?" Reeve said as he stared at the foul scene.

"Gut worms, or whatever they call it." Maine replied. He's the one that memorized the intelligence data files. "Perhaps the 97th have more experience."

"Oh shit…fucking zombie innards." Boyle Young said. "You need flamers against these guys."

"Don't let them reach you. They stick like insane." Bern Hertz said as he gave whatever hand flamers there are at the company arsenal and tossed them to those that he believed to be good shots.

"Bern, give one to Sarge. He's good with them." Boyle shouted.

"Fuck you, Boyle. I'm the grenadier here. And he's at Kilburn's position. You expect me to fly there?" Bern cursed as he armed the flamer.

"We should tell the 1st Company about this." Janus Bring panted as he tried to stanch the flow of blood on his chest.

"Them elites should know this better than we do, Bring." Bern spat as he turned one of the gut worms into crisp charcoal. Greg, however, ignored Bern and sent the suggestion through the vox-box. Reeve's voice boomed through the field: "Use your Flamers, ladies! Flame the gut worms!"

"We lost position kappa one. A carcass filled with those abominations landed right in the middle." the Guardsman carried Kilburn on his back, having ran from the leftmost strong point. "Those with a greenish hue explode into some corrosive fluid when they couldn't infiltrate the orifices."

"Common, please, punk." Bern said. "No more of this High Gothic. And don't think I still got more flamers for you."

"Then I will just take yours, Bern." the Guardsman grabbed Bern's hand flamer and toasted one that launched itself into the air, full of serrated enamel and teeth and heading for the back of Bern's head. The squirming worm writhed in agony as the flames reduced it to crisp charcoal. "Keep your guard up at all times and look out for each other! This is no place for squabbles." The Guardsman gave the flamer back to Bern and continued his trip to the rear where the 1st Company medics could take care of the wounded Kilburn.

"Cool, Bern. Did you see that move?" Boyle said as he unloaded another fuel flask onto a mass of squirming gut worms. "That toothed worm could have eaten your brains."

"Fuck you, Boyle." Bern said. He had to get used to the fact that the Guardsman just saved his life.

"And, look, Maine. That's a scene which will never make it to the Imperium's sight." Reeve pointed at the Guardsman running through the communication trenches with Kilburn on his back, dumping him to the 1st Company medics who then doused him with strong disinfectants. The Guardsman was back in the front almost in an instant, with the aquila of the 27th in his hands, he proceeded to whip both the 1st and 97th to regain position kappa one. The heavy flamer was operational again after a brief ordeal of setting the gut worms on fire. The attack was beaten. It seems that the traitors ran out of 'heavy weapons'. The throng of a thousand cultists moaned and wailed before retreating back to the undercity.

"Fraternity and honor." Maine agreed. "The cement of the Guards flesh and blood."


	4. The Undercity

Chapter 004

Another half hearted assault followed from the rear on the very same day. It was easily beaten back, but it told the guards clearly that their retreat has been cut off. The 97th wasn't expecting this, but the quiet confidence of the 1st company calmed them down.

The Guardsman spent the remaining time with Major Reeve Stoic and Lieutenant Maine. His own plan is to retract the defensive perimeter to an opening to the waste chute. In fact, the Guardsman is expecting that the next heretic attack come from there.

"Any justification for that besides gut feeling, Church?" Maine asked. Reeve seemed to be in heavy thought.

"My justifications are a few: first, is that they tried both front and rear, and would likely try a third side. Second, the chute is wide enough thirty men to march abreast, and links directly to the lower levels, which meant it is the perfect highway to march men through. Third, the chute is their trump card, which meant that they wouldn't want to expose it unless they're desperate. And I think they are. Their main force is pinned down at section 76 by ours." the Guardsman listed his reasons. _Quite a mouthful, in fact._

"True, true and true. I think." Maine agreed. "If the cultists get routed at 76, Lord Model can then easily blitz his way to the defunct tubeway at section 70, and strike directly at the heart right in section 30. If it's good enough for supersonic tubes, it's gotta be good enough for Lemans."

"Remember that we still have a primary objective, Lieutenant." Reeve said. "We are to somehow get down to the chute and hit them at the heart of their foul operations. And we're already depleted 40 percent of our ammunition stores. Grenadier Pax is not very pleased with our ammunition use efficiency."

"Pax is a moron." Maine snorted through the mask as he proceeded to clear the layer of grime away from the map for the fifth time since the meeting began. "And this map stinks."

"All the maps about the Undercity were prepared without any sense of profession." Reeve agreed. "They should have employed the guards as cartographers and the Commissar as an editor. I am sure no one would mess up in this case."

"Heh!" the Guardsman enjoyed Reeve's sense of humor. "Well, the chute at sector 63 would lead us somewhere off center, down to section 29, in fact, well away from the Emperor's Potty. But we should avoid the Potty. It would be about a full section, that's about three miles, from the treatment plant."

"I would avoid anyone's Potty, but our mission is to flush it." Reeve smirked. "3 miles from the treatment plant sounds too far."

"Would have been useful if we had some armor. Chimeras would do wonders. I don't think the cultists have any mechanized support." Maine added.

"Yet." the Guardsman said with a worrying tone. "The plants are working again. Who knows what they have been doing all this time?"

"Enough discussion. We move out after 6 hours rest." Reeve concluded the meeting. "We will march to the chuteway at section 63 then. Get some sleep, both of you. I don't want some tired eye guardsman dozing off after me when he's supposed to cover my ass."

The two hundred thirty odd men of the 1st and 97th companies weaved through the seemingly abandoned roadways, some are been carried on stretchers. Orresian regiments don't abandon their wounded unless absolutely necessary. Recce squads covered the forward, rear and flanks, ensuring that these areas are clear. Advance in ladder was standard urban combat doctrine. The advancing half assumed defensive positions and became the rear guard, while the rear guard got up and marched.

"97th is within operational standards." Maine felt that he had to congratulate the once beaten company. "Kunst did his job well."

"If Kunst did his job well his company would not have routed when they got him." Reeve said gruffly.

"Perhaps it was because the Guardsman wasn't there to assume secondary command for that particular situation."

"Irrelevant, Maine. Facts! Not extrapolations. I expect more from you." Reeve surveyed the featureless blocks that used to house residents. Now they're deserted, with their belongings scattered throughout the street. An odd scenery.

"No scavengers." the Guardsman was seen running back and quickly reported. He's an honorary part of the command squad now, and his place is with Reeve until the fighting starts. "Even fresh ration packets are left untouched. Something's not right."

Ata's vox sounded again. He handed Reeve the head piece with an attached receiver.

"Reeve Stoic of the 1st. Mmmhmm. Right. No problem." Reeve signaled Maine to give order for full defensive positions. All men are to halt and retract. "Sure, sure. Trust the 1st, Lord Model. We will hold until Lord Commissar Essesohn and the Ultras arrive." Reeve tossed the communications device back and looked rather grim.

"The cultists are done. They tried to pull back, but Henson led a counterattack that smashed their ordered retreat into a massive rout. The battle at section 76 is over. Lord Model personally led three armored companies and blitzed his way to the tubeway. He would probably breach their defenses before we can say Hail Emperor." Reeve said the good news first.

"Well, what's the bad news?" Maine is used to Reeve's way of providing information.

"Bad news is that the broken cultists are heading straight to section 63 like some mad seething swarm. To our position, in fact. Lord Model isn't interested in losing the 1st Company so he's sending Lord Commissar Essesohn with the 29th, 11th and 5th armored along with the Ultras and the crazy bitches to relieve us, and hopefully pocket this force and obliterate them…before they obliterate us, of course. Sounds serious enough?" Reeve gave an awkward smile. "I heard the crazy bitches are really hot."

"That's a lame joke, Major. They probably incinerate us first." Maine turned around to bellow orders at the soldiers. "Dig, you maggots, dig for your fucking lives! Get to work!" He turned back to his superior and asked: "How many of those stinking asses are we expecting?"

"About six or eight." Reeve joked. "Oh, I forgot to mention thousands. Easy, boy. No need to be scared. I have seen worse."

"Major Reeve, we have incoming again." Ata mentioned coldly. Reeve looked somewhat frustrated. "Major Reeve Stoic. Right. Several thousand you say? Fine." He tossed the headphone back.

"Impossible! They're already here? It should take another 5 hours for them to get here." the Guardsman was aghast.

"Not cultists. Another undercity militia. Been holding out their own ghetto block for a while. They have exchanged a few shots with our recce squads. No one's been hurt yet. They're asking for parley." Reeve said.

"Ask them to join us! We need all the guns available." Maine is eager to get out of this in one piece.

"Form an emissary party. Church-boy, go with Maine, and pick some undercitizens that could talk their talk…is that the way you guys say it?" Reeve decided to go ahead with the plan.

"Aye, Major. Under-common talk." the Guardsman reverted to his native accent.

XXX

It's talking time, for now. The emissary team brought the aquila of the 27th with Maine's rag tied around it. For this mission the Guardsman trusted only himself and the appointed Maine, given that the companies had bitter dealings with the Hive 15 undercitizens that turned traitor. The duo walked for about ten minutes from the defensive perimeter before a series of gunshots were heard. Solid slugs pelted the pavement before them.

"Halt! Halt your steps, Imperials!" a voice boomed from a distance. "You come for talk or fight?"

"Aye! We came for talk! Your Boss, ask him out!" Maine shouted.

"Them scouts tell me that the 1st Company is here. I only see the aquila of the 27th. And the 27th is wiped out. Don't think you can fool us. Are you fucking Farties? We only worship the Emperor here. No fucking gramps or your eternity bullshit!" the voice boomed again. The Guardsman could see him now. The man was somewhat big and burly, and was shouting through a loudspeaker from a fortified flat in the ghetto block in front of them.

"Whoever your boss is, ask him out!" the Guardsman took off his helmet and stood out in the open. "I am coming unarmed." Before he could take another step, another slug hit the pavement right before him.

"You hold your steps, Imperial, Cultist or whatever you are. You hit one of ours, and he's hurt bad. We don't trust you at all." the burly man disappeared from his position. Hopefully he's getting someone important.

The Guardsman turned his head back to Maine. "I thought nobody's hurt in the previous exchange." Maine shrugged his shoulder. "It's been ten minutes, after all. A lot of things could happen in ten minutes." The pair stood in their place for a few more minutes. No doubt that Reeve is getting anxious.

"Child of the Undercity! You've returned!" the voice of an old lady echoed down the streets. "Come in, and bring your friend with you. We will talk."

"Mother Hysteria?" the Guardsman is somewhat shocked.

"What type of name is Hysteria anyway?" Maine muttered under his breath as the two walked down the streets. The ghetto blocks were fortified in every way possible. The undercitizens were always resourceful when it comes to large scale gang wars. And this militia gang was better equipped than most. Trenches, barbed wire and even large caliber repeater-sluggers were present in sufficient density to delay frontal assaults of company size without armored support. "They've got experts here, no shit." Maine observed.

Undercity gangs that refused to join the cultists' bid sought refuge here, and these gangsters gave the two imperial guardsmen extremely dirty looks. A few gave them the 'fuck you' salute. Maine pretended not to see anything. The Guardsmen felt compelled to salute back, but the fealty of purity kept him from it. No doubt that the cultists had to fight the other gangs first as they spread through the undercity. It's only surprising that the cultists gambled before achieving total dominance.

"You, Guardsman. They say you're an undercitizen right from this crap hole!" the big burly man suddenly appeared from a dark street. "You guardsmen turned traitor in the battle. All the hive 15 undercitizens that joined the guards did. I am surprised that the Imperials didn't shoot you."

"Enough, Chris." an old lady on a wheel chair was pushed forward by a hairy bodyguard. She has a rosary in one hand and a small wooden scepter in another. "I know this child. I recognize his voice everywhere. The most beautiful voice I have ever heard." The Guardsman knelt besides her and bowed his head. The old lady extended her trembling hand, and felt his face and head. "And how have you grown? Has it been that long already?" The creased and rheumatic fingers pinched his cheeks and felt his nose and ears. It was comforting.

"Mother Hysteria, all Guardsman from the undercity joined the cultists and worship only Gramps. They've forsaken the Emperor." Chris reminded. He doesn't trust the Guardsman at all.

"Hush, Chris. He left the undercity after Gramps tried to have him. He is a pure and lovely boy. Always, and it would never change. Those without sight are blessed with other gifts from the Most Beneficent One." Hysteria bent forward to kiss the Guardsman on his forehead. It would appear that she was completely blind, her eyes were covered by a layer of scar tissue.

"Mother Hysteria, you're the only Mother I have known. We request refuge. We have two hundred and thirty men, fifty of them wounded. The horde is coming, we need to be prepared." the Guardsman put forth his request like a son asking for food from his caring parent.

"You and all your friends, they are welcome. Chris, let them in. If we can take the Sharks, Pigs of 56 and Boris' Grunts, we can most cetainly take the guards, especially if they're the friends of our Child."

"Aye, Mother Hysteria." Chris bowed in obedience and began to bellow out orders.

"Child, there's so much you missed in your absence. So many things have happened, irregardless of what is going on above us. The Emperor's Light could hardly shine through in this dark hour. Two years ago they robbed me of my sight, but it only made me see all things clearer." Mother Hysteria mentioned her bodyguards to take the guardsmen for a walk. They were headed for the Unter-Bastion, a Church dedicated to the Emperor built by the undercitizens. This immense conglomerate of undercity faith and recycled concrete and steel was heavily connected with the surrounding ghettos by a series of tunnels and gangways. Eight years since he left, and it still looked the same.

"Who are they that took out your sight, Mother?"

"Who else can it be but those that serve Gramps?" Hysteria said sadly. "It was not destined for my eyes, but rather my throat to silent me forever. Fortunately Chris was there. Poor souls, I remembered taking care of them as children, and they abused my trust and love. How far have they turned away from the Emperor's Light? I can no longer see them, but only shrouds of foul darkness." The Guardsman remained silent. He knew by heart, that the rewards of such trust are betrayal and disappointment.

"Gramps…he has been here for as long as I can remember too." the Guardsman said.

"It's only after they took my sight that I see him. Gramps is not of this world, Child. He serves something older, something that have accompanied life as a necessity. By the Emperor's Wisdom we have discerned its true purpose, but there's another that I cannot name that sought to dominate. Disease, decay and destruction, all these are natural processes. This thing is attempting to use these to further its own interest."

"I believe this Gramps is a follower of Purgle, Murple or something." Maine tried to remember something he overheard from Regimental Command.

"Hush, foolish one!" Mother Hysteria suddenly snapped. "I cannot tolerate the mention of blasphemous names in the most Holy House. You ought to be scourged!" Maine again shrugged his shoulder at the Guardsman.

"Faith is the core of our existence, and utterance of blasphemy is an assault on faith." the Guardsman said to Maine.

"How did this Gramps spread so far and fast then?" Maine asked.

"Desperation. It all breeds on desperation." the Guardsman replied. The group entered the Church and saw many of the old, the women and the children huddled together in pathetic heaps. This ghetto was meant only for at most ten thousand citizens, but from the looks of it, at least fifty thousand were packed here. The Unter-Bastion was the last stronghold for those that wished to stick to the Emperor's Path in the Undercity. The Guardsmen knew that they would all die if the cultists smash their way in.

"Fear and trepidation in your heart, Child?" Hysteria sensed the Guardsman's apprehension. "Do not be distrustful of your emotions. They serve to remind us of our own weakness, and knowing that we are weak is not a trespass in His Sight. Rather, it should compel you into action." The Unter-Bastion bells started ringing. "Oh, it's already time for prayer!"

Major Reeve Stoic barged his way in like a mad beast. "Church-boy! Get back to your post! Lieutenant Maine, have you put forward the request of complete military command?"

"Erm, I don't think so." Maine stammered.

"Dallying with old women and gangsters? Wasting your time here?" Reeve bellowed. "Who's the fucking leader of this pathetic jumble?"

"Major Reeve Stoic." Mother Hysteria said coldly. "Be quiet. You are disturbing the Hour for the Emperor." The Guardsman signaled with his hands. _This is the leader._

"No shit." Maine confirmed.

XXX

The undercity militia, which Mother Hysteria blessed with the holy name of Bastion Keepers, only managed to hold the first assault at bay. It would seem they're no longer fighting normal humans. The cultists seemed to be oblivious to pain or fear, and clawed their way through the barbed wire. The brutal assault was accompanied by the usual ululating chant that sang praises to Gramps. The extreme deformation of the rebel assault squads was an abhorrent sight. These massive hills of flesh swaggered through the battlefield dripping all sorts of foul smelling pus. Armed with a large caliber slugger sewn to their diseased arms, they tried to smash their way beyond the barricade. The Keepers had only rudimentary filter masks and were overwhelmed by the stench. Many began to retch and vomit, unable to maintain their fighitng abilities.

"Fuck this shit. Thing just keeps getting better and better." Boyle Young unloaded an autocannon round into the slow moving monstrosities, blasting limb and chunks of the torso off. But they seemed to be completely oblivious to the damage. One of them, whose lower jaw has completely rotted away, unleashed an unearthly howl as it crashed through the barbed wire, leaving chunks of itself dangling on the hooks.

"Shoot their legs, Boyle! They probably can't get back up if they lose their legs!" the Guardsman bellowed as he threw a grenade into the midst of the enemy assault. The aquila of the 27th is firmly in his hands.

Greg 'Boomer' latched a new box of rounds onto the feeder. "Last box, Young. Shoot carefully."

Boyle adjusted his aiming protocols to great effect. The bloated monstrosities could only lie helpless on the ground after their legs have been reduced to bleeding stumps. The pressure across the entire line was great, but the cultists have lost all semblance of order, and could only muster one suicidal charge after another to be mowed down by the cross fire of the Keepers and the Guards. Major Reeve Stoic stood calmly at the fortified flat looking at senseless bloodbath going on before him. They're desperate and panicking for some reason. But even at this rate, their numbers will prevail, and the ghetto fort completely overrun. He spots a weakness. Not too obvious, but clear enough.

"Maine, I want you to lead the 97th together with a few heavy assault squads, and as many men as you could get. Strike at the left, the cultists overextended themselves and are caught in the triple moat. Hopefully that would throw them back for a while. We're already running out of ammo." Reeve said through the vox.

"Aye Major. What's going on in your position?"

"Not much. Hysteria is praying with the women and children as usual."

"I think the prayer works, Major. Their chants are not turning butterflies in my guts." Maine observed.

"Pah. Its just a matter of resistance. You already got used to it. Lead the assault, and withdraw when you beat them back."

Maine adjusted his ear vox-talker and drew out his chainsword. "To me, 3rd squad!" Over fifty carapaced guardsmen around him shouted: "ULLA!" in response. "Church, bring the 97th with me. We will strike the left. Reeve saw a weakness."

"At your command, Lieutenant Maine." the Guardsman said. Boyle gave a thumbs-up sign. The heavy weapons specialists would provide cover. Bern Hertz took as much grenades as he could.

"We will get them for Kilburn." Janus Bring said, cocking his rifle confidently. "Vengeance for the old man and Kunst."

"Aye! To me, men of the 97th! In the name of Kunst!" the Guardsman whipped out his chainsword as well and rallied behind Maine. Over five hundred of the Keepers joined the assault on the basis of whim. The huge assault group weaved through the roughly dug communications trench and came within striking distance just as the cultist assault squad struggled out of the moat with its hidden spikes and submerged wires.

"Fire! Unleash hell!" Maine emptied an entire battery on his laspistol, overheating it in the process. The cultists were shot to pieces in the moat, falling back into it and getting tangled again by the wires. Bern Hertz hurled an assault charge like a real pro, landing it right in the midst of another cultist squad, sending pieces of them flying in a giant explosion.

"For Papa Kunst!" the 97th cheered.

"Charge! In the Name of the Emperor, Charge!" the Guardsman was first over the top, not wishing to waste this split second of momentum advantage. He crunched the sickeningly soft ribs of a bloated cultist with his hard synthetic leather boots and cleaved another in half with his chainsword. Maine was not keen to let the 97th steal the glory. He clambered over the top with the 3rd squad stormtroopers, stepping on the bodies of the cultists to cross the moat. The stormtroopers punched their way through the densest fire, aware that small caliber slugs could not penetrate their body armor. Cultists' limbs and bodies were seared through by almost point-blank las blasts. The Keepers joined the fray, shouting gang slogans and cursing the Farties and Gramps in general. Their crude guns were effective at close range, and sent many of the cultists to face eternal judgment. The 27th aquila was always at the forefront, bringing hell and destruction to the cultist around it.

A hooded and hunched man, his upper body naked and bloated with a purplish tone, appeared to be the rallying and command center of the cultists' left. The Guardsman saw him first, surrounded by three towering figures. These monstrosities are not unlike servitors, but where servitors were built to serve serve, these crude combinations of men and machine were constructed for death. Thick armor plates and guns were sewn directly onto their limbs and torso. Rusted pipes helped to exchange body fluids between their defunct organs and a large chambered tank strapped onto their backs. Bern Hertz tried to throw a grenade right in their midst, only to see it explode in midair.

"This is bullshit! The fuse can't burn out that fast!" Bern cursed as he drew his combat knife to defend himself against a frothing cultist swinging wildly with a crude mace. The storm troopers with their bayoneted assault rifles made quick work of their ill trained foes. Heeding the wild waving gesture of their hooded shepherd, the three monstrosities began blasting their way through their own to stop the guardsmen before they come to close. Large caliber slugs penetrated the stormtrooper carapaces easily and cleanly, leaving horrendous wounds and death in its wake.

"We need some heavy ordinance for these apes!" Maine cursed. Even close-range las fire seemed to do no significant damage. Sure it seared holes in their flesh that would kill an ordinary man, but these monsters don't seem to feel pain at all. One of the Keepers fired a grenade round that sunk deep into the flesh of a cyborg cultist. The resulting explosion opened a huge hole in its trunk, causing it to collapse to one of its knees. The Guardsman thrust his chainsword into its face with such force that only the hilt remained outside, and gave it a mighty jerk before pulling it out again, splattering blood, flesh and cranial matter all around. The monster clumsily raised its hand to push away its slayer, but collapsed after a brief struggle. Janus Bring made use of this opportunity to attack the leader directly with his bayonet. The hooded one swung his hand and an unseen force struck Janus right on the chest, sending him hurtling through the air and landing heavily on the ground, gasping for breath. Bern Hertz broke off from his opponent to defend his wounded comrade while the Keepers swarmed around and fought the cultists' counterattack in a brutal hand-to-hand battle.

"Mutant Psyker!" the Guardsman muttered under his breath as he cleaved off the limb of a traitor, leaving him howling and screaming at his bleeding stump. The momentum was swinging towards the other side as more of the Keepers and Guards began to fell underneath the volume of fire pouring from the massed cultists. The hooded figure, however, was not a particularly courageous one. He immediately withdrew the two remaining cyborg monsters to protect himself. His arm gestures and body language clearly exhibited his immense fear.

"YOU!" a malevolent voice screamed in his head. "YOU! GRAMPS WANTS YOU DEAD! HE WANTS YOU DEAD BAD!"

"No! The Emperor Protects!" the Guardsman didn't know why he even bothered to reply at all. Everything became a reddish blur as a cultist's club connected with his forehead. But that didn't stop him. The Guardsman sawn his assailant in half and continued his charge with a fanaticism that he has never felt before. The hooded figure shook his head violently and raised his arms up into the air.

"CURSE THE FALSE EMPEROR! I CAN'T SEE YOU!" the voice screamed again. "GRAMPS! GIVE ME STRENGTH! GIVE ME YOUR VISION! NO! DON'T LEAVE ME!" The hooded figure turned and fled. The Guardsman ducked beneath the swipe of a bloated giant, cleaving its unarmored leg right above the knee. The cyborg collapsed and struggled to get up, but the Guardsman ended its pathetic life by severing its relatively puny head. The last of the monsters fell under concentrated fire of the storm troopers. The heavy weapons squad of the assault team secured whatever highland beyond the trenches, and poured down a deluge of explosive shells that opened fist sized holes on the cyborg's thick armor. Lieutenant Maine, one of his arm shattered by a club, still waved the chainsword deftly. Like the Guardsman, he ensured that this cyborg would miss his head very much.

"Church, did we lose the psyker?" Maine shouted. "I can't see him!"

The Guardsman did not hear him. Everything appeared to be in delayed motion in his eyes. _I must end this now. _He wasn't aware of the big gaping wound in his forehead and the sheet of blood that ran down his face. He also did not know how he caught up with the fleeing Psyker. But he did know that it was his chainsword that sheared the mutant down the center, spilling his poisonous and corrupt brains onto the battlefield.

"Fuck that! Church! We gotta pull back!" Maine suddenly gripped the Guardsman shoulder while he was still in the exhilaration of victory. The ground before them appeared to be alive with the gut worms, writhing and squirming, urged on by more anthropomorphic and even more disgusting blobs of flesh, pus and teeth. "They got the gut worms and something worse!"

The Guardsman shook his head to clear his bloodlust. The air seemed to be alive with flies as well. They only managed to beat back the first wave. Five even bigger and bloated amalgams of flesh and steel clambered towards them in the thick living miasma, each looking more repulsive than the other. Barrage after barrage of shell and fire poured into the trenches, sending pieces of guardsmen and keepers into the air. The monstrous guns mounted on the living tanks were then loaded by hooded attendees that swarmed about them. A careless one was trampled beneath the giant legs. No one seemed to care. The horde had only one aim, and that was to push forward at all costs.

"Maine, get your ass back now." Reeve's voice sounded through the static in Maine's earpiece. "We can't last another two hours with you out there against these oversized shit-eaters."

"They've got armor! Fall back! Fall back!" Maine immediately relayed the command. "Back to the trenches!"

Bern hoisted the limping Janus on his back as the stormtroopers covered the retreat. The heavy weapons squad hurriedly packed their weapons. One of them was a direct recipient of a giant cannon round, the two squad members were killed instantaneously. The Keepers were broken, running with their eyes wild with panic and fear.

"No retreat! To me, Guards! The Emperor's Finest is here!" the Guardsmen raised his bloody chainsword in an act of defiance, and plunged the 27th aquila into the body of the fallen psyker. The guards ignored him and retreated, leaving the Guardsman awfully alone on the field. At this very instant a trio of Ultramarines Tempests screamed through the air, unleashing high explosive rockets into the mob of cultists and pouring ultra-dense slugger rounds into the hulking juggernaughts. One of them appeared to be hit in the fuel store which then exploded, consuming the monster in a sheet of flames. The cultist horde buckled as the combined relieving army arrived, two hours before schedule.


	5. Heart of the Beast

Chapter 005N

_These are not humans._ The Guardsman looked at the Ultramarine battle century almost single handedly overturning the entire rear echelon of the cultists. Towering at least two standard terran meters in height, these superhumans turned the battle into a massacre. It would appear that mercy was a heretical ideology in their mindset. Even the cultists that went down on their knees and begged for succor were met with their ceramic plated fist or heel. The bolter round was considered too holy for cowards.

It was over in two hours. The cultists were reduced to a swirling cauldron of mindless beasts and were hit on again by a flank sweep from the Ordos Hereticus 109th Foot. The entire battle ground became lit with the Emperor's Holy Fires as the odd squads of Ordos Sororitas entered the fray with their Flower Standards. _Probably Lilies._ Some of the monstrosities burnt so bright that it was visible hundreds of meters away through this almost opaque fog. The beleaguered guardsmen and Keepers were spared from whatever additional horrors that the cultist had in store. These were taken care of by the professionals in dealing with mass infestation and heretical waves. The miasma and flies slunk back into the heart of the undercity as the cultist horde was obliterated in section 63.

The surviving men of the 1st and 97th, now numbering fewer than a hundred, stood at attention with Major Reeve Stoic at their head to receive the relieving parties. The Keepers were assembled according to their gang allegiances nearby. Mother Hysteria was still in the inner sanctum of the Unter-Bastion with the young, weak and those incapable of fighting. _Giving the most sincere thanks to the Emperor for our victory here. _The aquilae and the colors of both companies (the 97th used the colors of the 27th) stood proud despite being terribly discolored by the sticky and chocking fog that saturated the air only a few hours earlier. An Ultramarine senior sergeant, standing at two meters and twenty, unlocked his helmet and took it off, revealing a pale toned head and a bionic left eye which scanned them incessantly. Lord Commissar Essesohn trailed behind this figure with his mask still on.

"The Emperor's Will has been carried out in his sector." Essesohn seemed to be wearing a portable vox-caster of Orresian make, and nodded to the battle-weary soldiers. "Men of the 1st, you've done your Company proud. Men of the 97th, you've rescued 2 companies from destruction."

"ULLA! In the Emperor's Name!" both companies cheered.

"It would seem that this trip from the orbital station is worth it." the space marine sergeant said without emotion. "It is apt to call the Hive management into question."

"Jonstele is stripped of his titles and pending trial. The entire section of Hive 15 is to undergo complete screening with the Ordos Hereticus as the overseeing organ." Essesohn nodded. "This infestation runs deep and for at least a decade. We will strike at the heart and purge the heretic that caused it."

"Tell Potemnus to watch his flock." the space marine stared at the Guardsman, observing his short black hair, olive skin and typical undercity features. "Who is this?" The Guardsman felt an intrusive force probing at his mind. It's not as strong as that of the mutant psyker he had slain earlier, but uncomfortable enough to send shivers across his nerves. _No, not again…_

"A Sergeant of the 97th Company. His name is insignificant." Essesohn said.

"I have seen him plunge the Emperor's Holy Symbol into the heart of battleground, ignoring the general rout of his own comrades around him." the space marine interjected, taking his eyes off the Guardsman, relieving him of his discomfort. He then looked condescendingly at the others. "To die for the Emperor while performing the Duties of Faith is what each and every soldier of the Imperium should pray for every hour. The same rule that applies for the Chapters also applies for the Guards."

"Brother Turge, I will see to it that they recite the Uplifting Primer everyday to remind them of the Imperial Tenets." Essesohn seemed apologetic.

"Have the guide rested for four hours and then we will move out again, this time to pierce the beast at its heart." Turge didn't seem to be impressed. He turned around and returned to his century. Lord Commissar Essesohn took off his mask and looked hard at Major Reeve Stoic.

"At ease, men. Dispense with Imperial ritual and rest well." Essesohn now seemed infinitely nicer relative to the space marine. "You have performed well despite the lack of anti armor weaponry, and have even managed to slay a rogue psyker. The cultist force that had put the combined might of five fully equipped and supported companies to a dishonorable rout in a matter of minutes was held up by one and a quarter unsupported companies for half an hour."

"We could not have done much without the Keepers, and those that held the Emperor's Faith in the undercity." Major Reeve Stoic honestly mentioned. "And you arrived two hours earlier."

"I am never early, Stoic. Always on time. I said I will SEE you then. And here I am. Do not question regimental command. Or have you forgotten that rule?" Essesohn's manner changed from general approval to outright hostility as one would flip a page in a book. "Regimental command is to have you extricate the guide and attack through the chute. Stoic, you now face charges of gross insubordination and Henson intends to charge you with treason."

"I will accept Imperial Jurisdiction and judgment." Reeve Stoic took off his cap and knelt on the ground, revealing that titanium skull piece on his forehead. Essesohn didn't care for this display. He proceeded to tear the insignias from Stoic's uniform as well as his carapace. When all this was over, Essesohn then kicked Stoic in the face so hard that he fell back on the ground, spitting blood through the gas filters. _And it's my fault…I convinced him to take this path._

"Stoic is thereby dishonored and relieved of his title. Lieutenant Nigel Maine will assume total command of the 1st Company, now under my complete jurisdiction." Essesohn said without emotion of any sort. He walked straight to Ata the vox-man of the 1st Company and proceeded to abuse him mercilessly with his stone-hard fists. Ata was secretly sobbing behind his gas mask when Reeve Stoic was literally stripped, and the Guardsman thought that it was only barely audible to him. Guardsmen that accompanied Essesohn hoisted the wounded ex-Major up and dragged him away unceremoniously together with Ata.

"I expect a reply from you men." Essesohn brushed his cloak aside to reveal his executioner's tool.

"In the Emperor's Name!" the men answered. This was probably the loudest they could get. The Guardsman felt guilty to the point that he wished that he could have dug a hole and buried himself in it. Even suffocation seemed to feel better than this.

"Dismissed! Guardsman, I will have a word with you." the cold hearted Commissar signaled to the Guardsman, who could barely look at the accusing stares from the 1st Company.

XXX

That four hours alone with Lord Commissar Essesohn was one of the harshest lessons of his life. "Guardsman, you're the one that convinced Major Reeve Stoic to disobey regimental command?"

"Lord Commissar, that is true." the Guardsman stood still as if in trial. Essesohn chose the confessionary of the Unter-Bastion to have this talk.

"What is your rank, Guardsman?"

"Sergeant."

"And 'effective lieutenant'. Is it above the rank of the Major? Remind, me, Guardsman. I want to make sure you haven't forgot the most basic of the Guards' Hierarchy."

"The rank of the Major is two tiers higher than that of the Sergeant."

"And yet you managed to convince him. Do you think my punishment of Stoic is unjust?"

"The Commissar is trained by the Scholar Progenium for utmost devotion to the Emperor…" the Guardsman recalled from memory.

"Enough history, Guardsman. This is not a recitation class. Yay or Nay?"

"The punishment of the individual in question is undeniably just."

"And your reasons, Guardsman? I do not want to hear what I like to hear. Yes I do appreciate that you agree with me, thank you very much." Essesohn paced around the Guardsman as if in deep thought. "But your reasons! That's what I want to hear."

"Three counts of hierarchical disobedience. Count 1: Major Stoic disregarded regimental command."

"He is no longer Major, Guardsman. Continue."

"With your grace, Lord Commissar. Count 2: Stoic chose to listen to the advices of a Sergeant leading a company composed of undercitizens, when his mission is to extricate the same person." the Guardsman paused. _This guilt is killing me. _"Count 3: Stoic failed to enter the chute, concluding the mission as a failure."

"Very good, Guardsman. But all of these are off-tangent. What is THE reason?"

"Lord?"

"The most serious cause of all, Guardsman. Stoic commented on regimental command before subordinates, and failed to correct similar behavior from them. Count 1 and the only one: Gross insubordination. Lieutenant Nigel Maine reported this personally along with documented evidence." _I seriously don't know what regimental command is thinking sometimes. Must be Henson's idea. _That joke from Reeve became the damning evidence. And so was the Guardsman's own comment: _Regimental commanders have their restrictions. They're not at the front lines, and henceforth are limited in their scope_

"I…I am sure he never meant it." the Guardsman stammered.

"And I suppose the traitors singing heresies to Gramps and committing major sacrilege on the Emperor's Blessed Names never truly meant it, either!" the Commissar thundered right at his face as though he's going to bite his nose right off. Surprisingly no spittle made contact. "And I am sure that you never meant your own smartass comment. Yes, you're one of the main causes of Stoic's disgrace. I can recognize that smooth voice of yours anywhere. Every moment in our lives we must be reminded of Duty and Faith. Let this be the first true lesson about this matter you receive to this date. I am very aware of the fact that I am no plump Mother or Father Chaplain. Nevertheless, its men like us, the Commissariat, that's the most effective in hammering Faith into pathetic recruits like you that would sell their own mothers for a purple."

The Guardsman bowed his head in shame. "This…this is unjust then…"

"Bullocks, Guardsman. You disappoint me. Get out of my sight. I have already taken enough of your rest time. I don't want the Ultras to be led by some sleepy eyed Church-boy. Go, get!" the Commissar barked.

The Guardsman retreated from the inner sanctum feeling worse than ever. The Commissars don't have parents. They are born from stones and iron, and eat those for all three meals. Mother Hysteria was still praying in the main hall with the few of the women and children that decided to stay behind while the rest were being evacuated and screened by the Guards and Ordos Hereticus.

"Lovely Child, come here." Hysteria seemed to be aware of his presence at all times. The Guardsman quickly went to her and bowed in penitence. "Do not blame yourself. Be in comfort that the one they call Stoic is under protection. The stone-eater may be harsh, but he is the only person that could defend Stoic."

The Guardsman suddenly felt elevated. He knew that Essesohn occupied a position that allows him to call the young Model by name. And he had somehow felt, since the sergeant promotion review, that Essesohn was a man of true justice. Hysteria smiled broadly as she gave her rosaries to the Guardsman. "Keep this well, Child, and know that people will adore you, always." He lowered his head as Hysteria bent forward and kissed him again with her dry papery lips. This is the last time he would ever see her again, probably.

As the Guardsman left the Unter-Bastion, he caught a glimpse of Essesohn kneeling before Mother Hysteria as well. "Now this is really rich."

XXX

The Ultramarine century under Turge formed the vanguard, which was in turn guided by the Guardsman accompanied by Mick and Bern Hertz. The scout marines' surveillance of the chute maze was assisted by the Guardsman's clear memorization of the dead ends and collapsing sections. Nothing changed in these eight years. Over five hundred of the most hardened guardsmen and Inquisitorial Storm Troopers trailed behind. The anguished cries and moans of thousands could be heard even though they are still miles away from Section 30. Just as the Guardsman had remembered, the chute took them to section 29th, a mass of ghetto blocks that made the Unter-Bastion look like heaven. The walls of the shacks and ghetto blocks were covered by dripping yellowish-green slime that seemed to be alive. The desperate ululating wail of the remaining cultists was completely audible, and vexing to the ear.

"The heart of their operations." Turge announced through the vox caster fixed onto his helmet. Scout marines surveyed the area with their Chapter Approved Auspex, and provided instantaneous up to date information about the surroundings to their battle brothers. "We will take the major roadway from here. No mercy to the heretic, mutant and traitor."

"Brother Sergeant Turge…I mean, Lord Turge…" the Guardsman was at a loss at how to address the space marines.

"Brother Turge would do, Guardsman. We will take it from here. Your help, though helpful in the maze of the chutes, is no longer required, and thus we release you from your service."

"The cultists would have fortified the major roadway. There's a sewer tunnel that I know that the cultists hardly use. I always used it when I was younger to look at their rituals…"

"Your tunnel will be useless for a half a thousand odd men. Be gone, Guardsman. We WILL take it from here." Turge was completely dismissive, and led the advances from this point on. The Guardsman was left standing there, accompanied by a few companions of the 97th.

"He really has a stinking attitude." Mick commented.

"He's a space marine. A single of these guys can kill a hundred of us and break no sweat, Mick." Bern Hertz snorted through his gas filter.

"I can't imagine an Imperium being run by these condescending folks."

"Shut your crap, Mick. Its already been run by condescending folks. Folks better than you." Bern still retained his unforgiving tone.

"Screw this. How many men of the 97th do we have here?" the Guardsman decided to go alone down the tunnels.

"A couple. Me, you and Bern Hertz His Assness." Mick counted carefully. "Boyle could've come."

"Best let him rest with Janus and the wounded. We could perhaps get a few of the 1st company to join us."

"Would they? They probably hate your guts." Bern Hertz was at least observant. "Lieutenant Maine probably would rather go along with the Space Marines than a company comprised of undercitizens."

"You're not an undercitizen, Bern." the Guardsman said.

"Fuck you, punk. Don't you dare start this topic! I do not wish to discuss this at all." Bern Hertz stared angrily at the Guardsman. "It's already my cursed luck to be stuck with pathetic lowlives like you."

"Dude, His Assness got offended again." Mick sprayed salt into the wound. Bern was over him in an instant, but the Guardsman dislodged him skillfully and threw him on the ground. The imperial guards marched past, pretending not to see anything. A Commissar was already on his way to the infighting with his executioner's pistol drawn.

"Now look at what you've done, Bern." Mick struggled to climb back up.

"Tell me your unit!" the Commissar grunted. "Before I charge you all for infighting on the frontline."

"That's fine, Wittsburgh." Essesohn was there on time. "Leave these trash to me. Get back to your unit." The Commissar saluted Essesohn and left.

Essesohn wasn't pleasant though. His stone hard fists connected with Bern's and Mick's belly, causing them to collapse and curl in pain. "Pain is the first teacher of Man. Through Pain does Man know his weakness, and the Sacrifice of the Emperor." he recited from the Uplifting Primer as though it would make them feel better.

"Thank you, Lord Commissar."

"Begone, Guardsman. Do whatever you will. The next time I see you or your men causing any trouble, it would be the executioner's barrel staring down between your eyes." Essesohn walked away. The Guardsman sat down with his two companions and watched as the column of armed men marched past in alternating groups of defense and advance. The deep report of bolter rifle fire could be heard from the front. The space marines have engaged their first foes.

"We really sucked." Mick said through his pangs of pain.

"You suck, Mick." Bern Hertz simply chose to lie down. "We fought the rotten heretics like no other, and this is how they treat us. It's the fault of undercitizens like you."

"Enough. I won't have this anymore. You two report back to the rearguard under Maine."

"Up yours, Church-boy." Bern coughed.

"I'm your Sergeant, Bern. Now go and disappear before Commissar Wittsburgh realize that both of you ain't really dead." the Guardsman dragged the two men up and sent them off. He himself, though, went on a personal quest. No one cared if he lived or died. Papa Kunst's 97th is as good as gone, with only 15 survivors, and only 3 of them are in fighting shape. And indeed, no one cared about the lone Sergeant trudging off in the opposite direction. No one called out and no one reported it. The Guardsman made his way towards a tunnel large enough that a tall man can run down with no difficulty.

"And it still seemed clean." the Guardsman observed the inner walls of the pipeline as he lowered himself through a crack that is nearly too small for him. The ladder of rope and steel bars is still there. The Maniac made it after he fell from the opening and broke his ankle. The tunnel antechambers were the Maniac's stronghold. Nothing penetrates it. Not even the miasma. The Maniac lived here, reciting liturgies, hymns, and chants, telling stories of his service. Maniac paid good souvenirs for scraps of food. It's the reason why the Guardsman frequented this place. Maniac turned the few antechambers into something that he was more familiar with: a stronghold of some sorts, with rough murals on both sides showing the events important in his life, services on alien worlds and the Armageddon war. The Maniac was good at drawing, and it seemed to be the only thing that kept him within the boundaries of sanity when he's not crying and shouting maniacally for the Emperor's forgiveness.

And then there's the valve of the tunnel. It was a thick giant door that stood before him. Beyond that is truly foreign territory, but he guessed it should have led to the treatment plant nonetheless._12345-54321, you'll not be having my little bun, ye stinking gramp worshipping cunts…_The Guardsman turned the large combination lock to that ten digit code, and strangely enough, the door did open. The Inner Chamber of the Maniac's stronghold was now bare and exposed before him. The thing he's been working on lies on the ground, relatively finished except for a missing power rotator unit and battery cell. It's a large two-handed chain sword, engraved with an aquila, except that the two heads of the eagle seemed to be merged and facing up the heavens instead of being split down the middle and looking at the sides.

A simple altar and prayer mat laid on the other side of the Inner Chamber workshop. A journal filled with cryptic writings was still open. The last entry was the date the Guardsman left the Undercity, screaming and crying with the Maniac's aquila necklace in his hands. The very last line read clearly: "Little bun, burn this sad excuse of penitence up or they'll have you." That made the Guardsman even more curious. He flipped through the pages of pleas for the Emperor's Forgiveness and general insanity that was mired in the delusions of faith and things that would have been classified as heresy. The content made him shiver. He started a fire and burnt the journal, and also proceeded to strip the Chamber and tunnel of all the drawings. A small note book sized sketch showed the Maniac kneeling naked and lacerated before the Guardsman as a young boy._This is insanely obscene. _Everything was fed to the fire, and was reduced to ash in an hour. The giant chain sword, however, can't be burnt. The Maniac knew how to craft, and despite using undercity scraps and materials it is comparable to the one that the Guardsman carried around. He gouged out the power rotator and cell of his Ryza pattern sword and affixed it into the cruder but mightier close combat weapon.

"Praise the Emperor…" the Guardsman felt a sudden surge of confidence. The man-sized weapon grunted and spluttered, and called out for corrupt cultist flesh to cleanse. Sounds of explosion and the unified supplications of the cultists for Gramps came from below the tunnels. There was a combination lock on the other end of the chamber, and the same code was used to unlock it. The stench of the unnatural miasma came awash over him, and made the Guardsman grip his new weapon tighter. "It's going to be all over now."

It was another fifteen minutes of walking until the Guardsman arrived at an opening, one that the Maniac definitely used eight years ago to pluck him from the herd of decay. He could still remember those gray purplish limbs that groped for him, and the long tongues dripping with pus that licked his stripped body as they prepared him as a sacrifice. The little bun was back now, with the intention to avenge the Maniac. He crawled out of the tunnel and found himself on a raised gangway of the treatment plant. It was a giant behemoth of a building, built to treat the sewage and waste material from half a billion citizens until the Power Main failed, and the undercity was abandoned by everyone who could afford to move. More waste came pouring down nevertheless, as if Hive Management never realized that the treatment plant had long been out of service. With it came disease, epidemics, plagues, stomach worms and rodents. Millions made their living from the Emperor's Potty, and millions died from the foul things it caused. Desperate people prayed and prayed to the Emperor for Deliverance. Maniac and Mother Hysteria came as answers for his. Gramps came for almost all the rest. It all seemed clear now.

From his position, the Guardsman could see the ongoing battle about six stories below him. Lord Model's combined tank companies has somehow been reduced to half strength. The giant roadway was littered with the corpses of cultists and guardsmen, as well as the burning hulks of Chimeras, Sentinels and even a few Lemans. The heretics constantly came up with something larger when their previous champion was defeated. Shambling steel constructs with the largest gun he had ever seen unleashed salvos against the Imperial forces. The plant was extremely well defended, a veritable fortress and redoubt to defend Gramps from the 'impure'. Fixed gun positions provided layer upon layer of crossfire, making the roadway a veritable death zone. Thousands of cultists mounted charge upon charge, keeping the pressure on the guards, trading at least five of their lives for a mortal guardian of the Imperium.

"INFILTRATOR!" a rough gurgling voice came from behind him. The Guardsman swung around struck that cultist across the head with the flat of the chain sword, sending him plummeting to his death below. Another trio of them shambled forth, with sore covered tentacles tipped with hardened keratin and horn. They lashed out at him clumsily and stupidly as the giant chain sword gorged itself on their corrupted flesh, sending chunks of them smoking and squirming onto the gangway. Crushing a severed bloated head with the soles of his boot, the Guardsman ran down the gangway, brushing aside the heretics that were forced by the narrowness of the gangway to come at him one by one.

A series of explosions rocked the treatment plant fortress. An imperial force seemed to have infiltrated into the heart of the beast and began sabotaging operations. _Must be the Ultramarines under Turge._The Guardsman followed his instincts and flew down the steps and narrow passageway, cleaving aside the few cultists that tried to shoot him with their crude sluggers and repeaters. Some of the surviving mutants became seized with such fear that they tried to clamber over their dead comrades to escape the Guardsman's wrath, but the Emperor's Judgment claimed them all. He eventually arrived at a gun position and gawked at the cyclopean giant that manned the giant cannon. It donned a crudely hammered helmet with strips of solid steel across the small single hole that allowed it to see. A massive gorget protected its neck, thick enough to tell the Guardsman that decapitation would be impossible. The giant made a gurgling sound and seized a boulder, eager to crush him and feed on his remains.

But the Guardsman was calm, with Hysteria's rosary wrapped around his wrist and the Maniac's aquila around his neck, he ducked the lethal but clumsy attack, and hoisted the chainsword in an upperhand swipe that proceeded to saw the giant between the legs up to his abdomen filled with stagnant and accumulated body fluids of all types imaginable. The giant howled as his abdominal cavity gave way to the sheer weight of its content, and it collapsed on all fours trying to put them back. The Guardsman leapt on to the giant's back and aimed at where the heart should be. Just as he plunged the chain sword in, the giant's fingers wrapped around him and threw him away. He could have fallen to his death if not for a piece of steel that jutted out from the side walls. Superb athletics allowed him to get onto the gangplank quickly to see the giant struggling to pull the weapon out of its back. The power rotator is still on, which meant that chainsword was still sawing away without the wielder. The wildly flailing Cyclops eventually lost his balance, and fell off the elevated gun position along with the Guardsman's weapon.

"Better than getting killed, I suppose." the Guardsman felt as though he lost an old friend. He tossed a grenade to the crude propellant store that lie besides the giant cannon, and ran down the gangway as quickly as he could. He met no more resistance along the way, as the cultists believed, erroneously, that no one could get past their gunnery Cyclops. The explosion that ripped apart the cannon also took away a corner of the roof. He could faintly hear the massive cheer from the guards below, seeing that a cultist gun position had been obliterated. Lord Model's gold-striped Leman Rus led another charge, making use of the panic that's beginning to grip at the cultist when they saw their own fortress under attack from within. The crude giant automatons of steel and flesh which defended the roadway was blasted apart as the company of eight Lemans and untold number of ordnance and portable artillery fired away. The colors of the Orresian 11th as well as the Ordos Hereticus 109th Foot swept forward, surrounded by stormtroopers that made quick work of enemies dazed by the shell shock. No mercy was given, and even the dead bodies were given the "make-sure" bayonet thrust.

"Gramps, you're dead meat." the Guardsman muttered. He continued his solo trek down the gangway, arriving at last to a bolted door. He quickly duck aside as he heard incoming footsteps. Bolter shells ripped the door lock apart and a power fist punched it through. Brother Turge emerged from the opening and almost opened fire.

"Guardsman, why are you here?" Turge asked as accompanying scout marines surveyed the surrounding with their augmented optical bionics.

"I am heading for the thing they called Gramps." the Guardsman said grimly.

"There isn't anything down there. We blasted through all the doors. Model is coming through the main gates."

"Brother Turge, I was here before. I can still hear Gramps breathing. He is down there. I can feel it." the Guardsman remembered the long alleyway, and the singing throngs that adorned him with their valuables and anointed him with Gramps' serum as he struggled weakly against the cursed chains that bound him tight.

Turge was silent for a while, and then said: "Scout squad, at my command, follow the guide and we will strike the beast."

"Courage and Honor!" the scouts replied. The six member team entered the fortress, with Turge retracing the paths they took. Dead cultists littered the entire floor, with no wounded space marine in sight. _For everyone of them that falls, a hundred enemies would die, and a thousand heretics._ Squads of heavily armed battle brothers secured each critical crossway between the huge combined manufacturers that were crafted with the most devious and corrupt of intentions. The treatment plants have changed so much that it now appears to be an automated butcher shop and assembly plant at the same time. Willing cultists were dismembered and affixed with crude corrupt bionics, or injected with hormone saturated serums that gave them abnormal size and strength. The female converts gave their flesh to the birthing tanks, producing countless abominations – a repulsive mixture of a human fetus, teeth and horns. These tanks were already smashed, with the foul offspring either burnt by the Emperor's Cleansing Fire, crushed by the ceramic armored boots of the Adeptus or simply suffocating in the air. A few squads were ordered to join Turge's party as the battle raged outside. The heresy is doomed. But the heart of corruption must be cleansed, and the cleansing must be witnessed by the faithful.

"It's here." the Guardsman said, arriving at a rather empty space. Turge went on one knee and patted the floor intently before nodding his head and withdrew to a safe position. Scout specialists attached demolition charges at the critical points that Turge pointed out to them. The carefully planned explosion opened a gaping hole in the floor, destroying the hydraulic operated seals and staircase that led downwards deeper into the treatment plant.

The tunnel was dark and the Guardsman could hardly see anything. The marines, however, with their attached visual augmentation had no problem navigating. A scout marine tossed the Guardsman one of the Chapter Approved devices, finely crafted and way above imperial standards. The combined thermal and echolocation system gave him near perfect vision where moments before he thought he was completely blind. In fact, he wasn't sure if his own eyes could see better than this in well lit areas. The large corridor was covered by a five centimeter thick mat of creeping organic matter in a continuous process of self-digestion and regeneration. The heart of the plant, the Powers Main, was completely overtaken by the foul living carpet and littered with the most grievously wounded of the heretics, numbering in their thousands and doomed to become part of the mat. A pale humanoid figure is attached to a suspended mass of cables, veins and arteries hanging from the ceiling, unleashing bolts of lightning randomly at the power generators.

"Julius?" the Guardsman saw the heavily wounded leader of the 27th scumbags carving eight pointed stars onto his chest, cowering by the side of a large transformer unit. His lower body was gone, and his entrails were already merging with the mat.

"It's over now, Sarge. You did it. You destroyed Gramps' dreams. He told me so much after he forgave me of my sins against him. We could have made it, you know, the entire undercity, me and you. We could take over this corrupt administration and strive in Gramps' perfection…" Julius sobbed. Turge walked forward and stared down at this traitor, who retained his defiance. "Foul worshipper of the false Emperor, you may kill us now, but we will always return, bigger and stronger. All hail…" Turge ended Juliu's treason by crushing his head between the sole of his feet and the transformer. _The bolter is too holy for them._

"Execute the rogue psyker, brothers." Turge said coldly. A blast of lightning lashed out at him, knocking him flat on the ground. The other space marines started pouring bolter shells against the pale humanoid machine on the ceiling, which seemed to be completely unhurt.

The humanoid opened its extendable jaws and howled, its long decaying tongue like a foul serpent. "Worship not me, ignorant children, but the one who will lead us to perfection! The other of the pair! The true messiah and master of the Grandfather!" A marine fired a high explosive rocket at the core. It was a bull's-eye hit, but the explosion had no effect. Some protective field kept the abomination safe. The creature unleashed its counter-attack, a giant sheet of lightning that sprang from the transformers. The next thing that the Guardsman knew was a brilliant white flash. Through this almost blinding light he could see Turge getting back onto his feet, but that was the last thing he saw before he succumbed to the numbing pain and paralysis.


	6. Fallout of Love

Chapter 006

The Guardsman opened his eyes to the more comforting interior of Medica Central of the Orresian 11th regiment, situated in Hive 5 to be precise. A dark eyed rear area medic smiled as she removed an old bandage and dressed the healing wound. The rear area medic is one of the few sections within the imperial guards comprised exclusively of female recruits. Another was rations department. Command still refused to have women in any part of the army that would have a chance of seeing fighting. _It would destroy troop morale knowing that we let women do fighting._

Then how about the crazy bitches? Or the Sororitas? No one seemed to have a problem with that. The Guardsman tried to smile back and realized that his lips were broken and had to be sewn together. The pain is intolerable.

"Easy now, Sergeant. Everything's fine. You'll just rest for a few more days." she smiled beautifully before moving on to the next patient.

"Ma'am, can you tell me what happened in the battle of hive 15?"

"There's a battle at Hive 15?" she seemed oblivious to the fact.

"Guardsman, why I am not surprised that you're still in one piece." Essesohn came like a ghost. It almost caused the Guardsman to jump up from his bed. "Medic, get back to your work." The dark eyed medic turned her head around quickly. _Commissars don't need medics. They use their swords to stitch themselves._

"Lord Commissar, everything's fine. How long has it been?"

"70 hours. We will talk about it later, First Class Lieutenant."

"Lieutenant? When…how?" the Guardsman didn't remember when his last promotion was, but it was sure that it had more to do with Sergeant than a company commander. "And Sarai, how is she?"

"We will talk about it later." Essesohn always gave cryptic answers when it comes to the wellbeing of his family, and left without any more questions. He did mention that the civilian evacuation from section 109 is a success, but that's several days ago. It gave a sense of dread to the Guardsman. Once the opportunity came, the Guardsman was brought to the Commissar's room in Militant Cathedral in Hive 5 by a pair of Commissar Cadets. Both are younger than he was, but have already developed the characteristic features of seasoned soldiers. The cadets saluted Essesohn and disappeared, closing the door behind them.

"Do you want to know the outcome of the battles in hive 15?" Essesohn spoke first.

"Certainly, Lord Commissar." the Guardsman affirmed his curiosity.

"Complete victory for us. But the Ultras failed to capture the rogue psyker that led it. It destroyed its own mind. The entire undercity is to be leveled. Jonstele was sentenced to hanging by the neck and the execution was carried out only ten hours ago while you're still in your nightmares. Hive administration was found to be pretty much infiltrated. Not Jonstele though. He's spared the fire because he's only dumb and stupid. It's a sight, Guardsman. Over three thousand heretics cleansed in the Emperor's Fire at the same time on the command of the Ordos Hereticus Chaplain." Essesohn described the aftermath. "And we got a sense of the heretics' economy as well. Some potent narcotic drug called the Serum popular with the upper citizens. They traded the Serum through semi-legal conduits such as the Deparmento Medica for heavy equipment, and with that managed to create their own machining. Having addicted key members in the bureaucracy and policing helped, who went out of their way to maintain that everything's 'as usual' in the undercity. We could legally send half a million soft skinned thin boned pinkies to the gulag if you want to know what's going to happen to them. I would personally set more torches. It's all very carefully planned. The Ordos Hereticus documented all this to the letter and made it a specific case study."

"What of the 97th?"

"The 97th is to be restored for outstanding services, and a recipient of 2 Medallion Crimsons. Lord Potemnus would personally award this." Essesohn tried to make this sound as insignificant as possible.

"Who are the recipients?" the Guardsman sound excited.

"Private First Class Bern Hertz and Private First Class Michelin Joy." Essesohn didn't see the expected flicker of disappointment. Instead he saw genuine happiness.

"They made it!" the Guardsman felt very much consoled. "Tell me how!"

"Lieutenant Nigel Maine led the 1st company and whatever's left of the 97th. I ordered them forward to support Lord Model's armored company that was pinned down at the center when they breached the gates. The stormtroopers were thrown back, shamelessly, while the 97th went forward. Bern destroyed a cultist pillbox and alleviated the situation somewhat, receiving five direct hits in the process. If they're good they might be able to save his legs. Michelin dragged Lord Model out from his personal Lemans, and saved him from a fiery end, receiving 80 burns in the process. The honor will be post-humus." Essesohn recalled. "To be honest I thought I needed to make an example of these men to urge the rest onward."

Essesohn's words came as a sudden blow. Mick was one of his biggest supporters and closest friends. "Who will lead the 97th then? How will it be reformed after such losses?"

"You will lead the company, Lieutenant. The color has been burnt and dishonored so you can request a new design. Regimental Command also decided to recruit from the Keepers for their displays of faith. You probably get a few old friends."

"Stoic? What of Stoic?"

"He will serve in the 97th." Essesohn said as the cathedral bells started to ring. "It would seem you have taken too much of my time, Guardsman. I will be busy with liturgies for the next hour. Disturb not the Hour of the Emperor, Guardsman, and make sure you do yours too."

The Guardsman had wanted to ask about Sarai and Mother Hysteria. And all of a sudden he realized his rosary was missing. But already Essesohn had begun the first part of the rites by taking off his peaked cap and cloak, and closed his eyes and recited the opening prayers softly. The Guardsman had no choice but to leave in silence.

XXX

The 97th standard is that of a winged feminine angel with an innocent babe in her arms. It was from one of the scratches that the Maniac made in his notebook, but it gave the Guardsman inspiration. Sarai and their unnamed child would live on through the Company. He would miss her very much, with her petite elfin features and dirty brown hair. They're dead. Gone forever. That's what the cold database told him. She was cremated as he slept. There must have been some memories of the dreams that lay in between, but try as he might, the Guardsman never managed to remember. _It always escaped like a feather floating in the wind._ Still, the wind caressed the angel banners, gently raising the flag in gentle waving motions. Boyle Young served as the Color Sergeant. Private First Class Reeve Stoic stood behind him. He would not be promoted until the regimental command allows.

The entirety of the Orresian 11th was assembled on the megaplaza of Hive Primary, a force numbering eight thousand strong, now that it has been completely reorganized and boosted to full strength. Each of the Orresian regiment numbered 40 companies, the number and designation having more to do with administrative bureaucracy. Only the prima-decas followed the rule. The rest, such as the 119th and 97th, were results of randomization or simply history inherited from previous regiments that the regimental command had served with. Lord Model is actually very fond of anything ending with 7, and so was Lord Commissar Essesohn, despite the fact that all the 7s were recruited mostly from undercitizens. Henson Model is an elitist and kept to the prima-decas. Each company was led by a First Lieutenant, who then have a few Second Lieutenants about him as his staff who would lead the platoons. Majors led battalions comprised of 10 companies. Each regiment would have about 4 to 20 Majors depending on its history and resilience. For the Orresian 11th, there is a Major for each of the prima-decas, and a Major for ten of the other companies, giving it a total of 13 Majors (Model's 13). These grim men would answer directly to the regimental command led by a Lord Colonel, perhaps with a handful of Commissars that the Colonel would distribute throughout the companies to maintain morale and discipline. The most decorated and hardened regiments might even be led by a Lord Castellan appointed from the General Staff of the Guards. This huge gathering, nevertheless, was one of the few instances that the Guards could wear their parade uniform, a solid gray backing with a dark purple that's almost black in color. It's only under the brightness of the Spire lighting that the faint purplish hue can be seen.

"Regiment Attention!" Louis Model's voice boomed through the vox cast. He stood before the regiment like a true giant of a man, with his son, color sergeants and guard troopers of regimental command behind him in a neat line, and the Orressian 11th behind them in neat company blocks. The entire regiment smashed their heels together in unity, half of them bloodied in the Hive 15 insurrection. _And bloodied men are good men. And they are real men._

Potemnus VIII, Lord Governor of the Orres System and Veritable Lord of Orres Prime sat high on the governor's platform. No one dared call it a throne, for _there's only one throne in the Imperium of Man and the Emperor sits on it_. That's Potemnus' motto. Two millennia went past since the first Potemnus was assigned stewardship over the then colony world of Orres and established the first city-scale combined Or Mine Complexes to provide the finest gold for the Imperium. The ystem is now an established peg of the Empire of Man, with over 230 billion souls that lived and died at the will of Potemnus. This is the Eighth Lord Governor's fourth century, and probably his last.

"Regiment at ease." Potemnus' voice is mechanical. From the Guardsman's position the most powerful man in Orres is only a tiny figure. He tried to squint his eyes to get a better view. It must be cold up there. Potemnus is coverd by a rich mantle of rare offworld seal fur and his self-containment armor suit is covered with exquisite imperial livery and embossments. Below him is another figure, standing straight and upright. This must be General Militant Sears Wessex of the Orresian Regiments, descended from the only armed guard that the first Potemnus had with him when he arrived at this system. Sears Wessex wears a dark purple power armor suit, at least of terminator size. How he came by it and how he was able to wear it remains a mystery. Besides Sears Wessex is another group of figures, most probably the future Potemnus IX, X, XI and XII. They're all decked in impressive suits of armor and heavily augmented with bionics. They are the protégé of their venerable ancestor, and act as his eyes and ears.

"For bravery, valor, sacrifice, all demanded by the code of the Imperial Guards, Orresian 11th, under Lord Colonel Louis Model. 13 regimental citations and 31 company decorations." Sears Wessex's inhuman voice boomed. Surrounding these impressive figures are a group of hunched humanoids – numerous servitors that recorded the various sights as hard copies, and wrote down every thing that was being said amongst 'those that decide'. In the background were the limited representatives of the Ecclesiarchy, as well as an Ordos Hereticus Chaplain. Their distinctive staves, aquila and shining white symbols of the bishopric stood out against the dark background.

What shocked the Guardsman even more is that Essesohn is up there with his characteristic peaked hat and his dress coat, laden with all the medallions he had garnered through his years of loyal service. He knew that the Commissar was somewhere up there, but being on equal footing with General Militant Sears and the descendants of Potemnus came as a shock.

"Bring forth the glorious dead." Sears Wessex announced. Over one thousand caskets were hoisted by their closest comrades to the front of the plaza. Bern Hertz personally carried that of Mick. The Guardsman carried Papa Kunst's together with Boyle. Janus carried Kilburn's casket together with the new recruit Chris 'the Bastion Keeper'. The 1st company under the new Major Nigel Maine looked the most impressive amongst the prima-decas. Nevertheless, the Guardsman looked upon Nigel Maine in disgust. He hated the double dealer.

"Lord Colonel of Orresian 11th, present yourself to receive the regimental citations." The regimental command marched up the stairs with four banners representing the Foot, the Armored Companies, the Quartermastery and the Regimental Tactica, and knelt in unison before the governing lords of the Orresian System. The General Militant and the Ecclesiarchy gave the older Model a Macharian Cross, Order of Gold and a Medallion Crimson. Younger Model received a Guardian of Orres and Corona Fidelis, a circlet of leaves that is fixed to his hat for adhering to Imperial Code at even the most difficult of times. Four of the regimental citations were affixed directly to the regimental colors, two of them to the Foot, followed by the gentle sprinkling of Holy Water and Saints' Dust (ground from the relics of beatified individuals). The simple Guardsmen of the Orresian 11th roused a mighty cheer that echoed amongst the great statues of Imperial Heroes that surrounded the plaza. The regimental Foot won two rewards through the blood and flesh of their two thousand brothers. The award ritual was concluded by the Ecclesiarchy leading the recitations of Chapter VIII verse 20 of the Uplifting Primer: "_The guard's greatest reward is knowing that he had put himself between his loved ones and the ravishes of war. For such is the sacrifice of the Emperor of Man. Just as the Emperor of Man lives on the Throne of Holy Terra, so then would the guard live on for eternity in the Empire of Man_."

This went on for almost an hour until the 97th was called upon to receive honors. The Guardsman carried the flag as steady as he could and marched up the stairs to receive the two medallion crimsons. Bern Hertz now carried Mick together with Boyle Young. At this distance, Potemnus VIII seemed to be much bigger now, but as the Guardsman looked more carefully he realized that he is only a wizened shell fed by uncountable tubings and wires. He doesn't even seem to breathe.

"97th Company, on your knees." Sears Wessex commanded. The awardees of the 97th company complied. Bern did it clumsily.

"Sergeant Bern Hertz, Medallion Crimson." One of the younger Potemnus that is not as heavily wired up affixed the Medallion on Bern Hertz's uniform.

"Private First Class Michelin Joy, Medallion Crimson." Another one placed the Medallion on Mick's casket.

"Chapter XIX verse 8: _So then we ask why do we ask the most simple of man to make such a great sacrifice? For such is the test of faith, and the reward multiplied a million fold. The Emperor is Just, He Sees All, Hears All and Knows All._" the chaplain recited, and it would seem that only the Guardsman memorized it. The chaplain looked at the Guardsman but for a fleeting moment, and continued with the ritual. Company colors only deserve the Holy Water. The Saint's Dust is only for the regiment. The Guardsman sneaked a look on Essesohn. The Lord Commissar is transfixed on some distant matter, some distant memories or some future portents of war.

"Now walk away in the Emperor's light, and know that you're blessed to be in the Imperium of Man." the bishopric concluded the ritual.

The 97th Company was followed by the 114th, whose dead Lieutenant Tule was a recipient of Corona Civica for defending the civilian evacuation of section 109 with his life. The ceremony was over after another hour, and the regiment was dismissed.

Sergeant Bonan of the 114th was at the giant plaque cemeteries after the ceremony. The Guardsman recognized him as the man that carried Lieutenant Tule's casket. These giant mausoleums housed endless walls, whereupon the deceased was given a 2 cm by 5 cm space with which to carve their names on. These cemeteries were dedicated to public service citizens, and Potemnus VII had extended that honor to their family members as well.

"Sarai, I saw your husband." Sergeant Bonan said. "He's fine. Nothing's happened to him. He seems to be taking it pretty well. Take care and may you find eternal bliss." In Bonan's hands is an expensive greenhouse grown flower which he gingerly inserted into the small hole that lied next to the plaque.

"Sergeant Bonan." the Guardsman could hardly hold back his tears.

"Lieutenant!" Bonan saluted deftly.

"Tell me what happened." the Guardsman wanted to know everything. It would take him closer to Sarai.

"Several thousand cultists stormed 109 after the general muster at section 210, and struck the evacuation caravans like savages. It's an isolated pocket that came out of nowhere. Lieutenant Tule had the passengers of a few tubes to disembark, forcibly if necessary, so that we could use the vehicles to block the entire roadway. Half of the company was given orders to hasten the evacuation by 'foot and back', and I carried your pregnant wife to the company Chimera transports. We really ran for our lives. It was a shame. Half of the company and old man Tule died so that we could live." Bonan shook his head.

"And what happened then?"

"The cultists got him with a slug through the chest. His nephew carried the body back and gave his mask to Sarai who was already bleeding down her legs. We managed to evacuate most of the civilians in section 109 to the Health Services in Hive 15 Middle City, already packed with the dead, dying, the desperate and the panicking."

"How did she die, Sergeant, tell me, please!" the Guardsman was almost on his knees.

Bonan shook his head. That's all he's going to tell the Lieutenant of the 97th. "She's dead, Lieutenant. Nothing you can do to bring her back."

"What did she tell you? There must be a reason why you're here." the Guardsman grabbed Bonan by the collar and shook him violently. "Tell me! I command you in the name of the Emperor! Tell me everything!"

"No, Lieutenant! I can't tell. She had me swear by the name of the Emperor." Bonan struggled against the Guardsman's strong grips.

"Let go of him, Guardsman." Essesohn seem to appear out of thin air.

"Lord Commissar." the Guardsman saluted. Bonan could hardly keep on both of his feet. The shaking disoriented him badly.

"I have mentioned I will talk about this matter latter." Essesohn said. "And Bonan's words are true. There's nothing you can do." The Lord Commissar's strong gaze had the Guardsman head bowed down in his deepest sorrow.

XXX

Love hurts. Loss hurts. Truth hurts the worst. Essesohn provided the details back in the Militant Cathedral. Sarai was not even admitted into the emergency ward. Given that she's from the middle low, Health Services demanded that she be screened first, and there were tens of thousands in the waiting line. The guardsmen of the 114th tried to smash through the quarantine imposed by the Upper Middle so that the wounded they have evacuated could attain medical care. It didn't work. A Commissar executed Sergeant Krugs of the 114th armored platoon to make a point, and elite troopers reinforced the display of force. The 114th were disarmed. Sarai was not the only casualty to have died in the waiting lines. Essesohn extrapolates that Sarai spoke her last words to Bonan as her life ebbed away. Somewhere along the lines of "I will always love him", "Tell him to serve the Emperor loyally", "Don't tell me how I died" and so on. The Guardsman would later find out that the Commissar is near perfect in his guesses.

"All that live will eventually die save the Eternal Emperor. No one is the exception. Tomorrow it might be me. The sheer weight of death is what differs. Some deaths are lighter than a feather and hardly felt. Some deaths send echoes of anguish throughout the galaxy and the Imperium. Ours would probably be the earlier." Essesohn got somewhat philosophical, and then the cold hearted realist emerged once more. "Birth complications, compromised immune system, acute food poisoning AND exposure to the miasma. She lived in the wrong place, was pregnant at the wrong time, was evacuated on the wrong tube and even had the wrong lunch. Honestly, Guardsman, it's more of a miracle if she lived."

The Guardsman knelt on the floor and sobbed uncontrollably. Essesohn really meant that the Guardsman killed her. Love killed her. Her desire to have a child for her husband killed her. Her insistence on attending mass during her pregnancy killed her. Substandard filter quality killed her. Improper pickling process and quality control of food safety killed her. "And you had at least 10 hours with her. I can't really believe you left her in the building after seeing Kunst being lynched right on the street. What were you thinking, Guardsman? And I thought I was the cold stone-hearted Commissar. My, you would make an excellent material." Essesohn also tried to get humorous. That's the first time the Guardsman ever heard a Commissar getting humorous, and probably the last. Essesohn is really giving him a great deal of quality time given that the Commissar is on equal footing with Sears Wessex and Potemnus' heirs. He should be trembling with honor. But it is with the utmost sorrow and guilt that he's trembling.

"Do you eat rocks and stones, Guardsman?" Essesohn suddenly asked.

"No, Lord Commissar." the Guardsman wiped his face and regained his composure.

"Do you think you would enjoy them if you could?"

"I can't imagine I could, Lord Commissar."

"We do. Rocks and stones are prima-cuisines and enjoy the finest culinary chefs of the Imperium." Essesohn was talking about how the Commissars felt about their job. "A sadistic Commissar is an oxymoron. These are weeded out quickly and would never be attached to any regiment or company. We seem cruel only in relative terms. I do not enjoy quoting statistics very much, but units with an established Commissariat have 23 to 47 percent less overall casualties. So in relative terms, not attaching Commissars to a regiment is the greatest punishment we can mete out to it. Ever wondered why?"

"Because most casualties are suffered in a general rout."

"Precisely, Guardsman. Most men are killed being hit on the back, be it claw, sword, shell, bullet, bolter round, las fire or gas. A routing regiment has lost all semblances of order and co-ordination, and numerous men became seized by the stampede. It only takes an idiot in a stampede to degrade everyone else to his level. And most stampedes are led by idiots. The Commissariat exists to prevent this, and to kill the idiot before he leads. We lower casualties. We uphold the Militant Codex and Law. We even help to remind you guys of prayer times and how to wash your hands. What do you think of a father that spoils his child?"

"Negligent of Duty and Faith, Lord Commissar."

"Absolutely correct. Most undercitizens, however, don't have a father figure. This explains, partially, the crime problem, and the resulting desperation and tendency for them to be influenced by heresies, all of which fills up that vacuum. People want a father figure. They thirst for it. A mother isn't enough. They want a strong hard man that would crack them on the head when they make mistakes. People that have failed to grasp rudimentary rights from wrongs, and instead obsess about some weird notion as 'second chance' are beyond hope. Guardsman, do NOT hate the Commissariat, Father Overseer of the Guards. Think of the consequences if the 114th got what they wanted through force of arms. Would your domestic partner be saved?"

The Guardsman remained silent. Essesohn justified the Commissariat in ways that is difficult to refute from his limited position. If the 114th smashed through the quarantine, Sarai would still most likely be dead in the major insurrection that will follow, and hundreds more would die as the desperate push their way through and despoil the Health Services. The 114th armored would be charged with treason and executed before the entire regiment. Lieutenant Tule's sacrifice would all be for naught. With a single shot to Sergeant Krugs' head, the Commissar saved the armored company, prevented hundreds of civilian death and in fact allowed Tule's sacrifice to be decorated.

"I think you have it figured out, Guardsman. Be gone. I don't intend to see you in the near future, so don't give me any reason to." Essesohn dismissed him. The Guardsman left promptly. The Lord Commissar, together with the Maniac and Papa Kunst, are the three father figures he had so far in his life. To the Maniac, he is a little bun. To Papa Kunst, he is the model Guardsman. To the Commissar, he is a spoilt brat that requires correction to the highest order. As scores of elite guardsmen and cadets prayed and supplicated around him, the Guardsman searched for his lost love in the ocean of memories. Sarai's face was already getting blurry. It suddenly came upon him that he probably didn't love her as much as he believed, but was bound to her on the basis of Duty and Faith. He allowed Sarai to love him as a stern brother-father figure she never had. And that killed her. He wiped the tears from his face once more and smiled at the young cadets who would, in the near future, help to reduce the needless deaths in the Imperial Guards. The cadets didn't smile back. They're already used to stones and rocks and found it to be appetizing.

XXX

Planetary mobilization initiated after 212 standard Terran days since the 'disturbance' in Hive 15. The guards spent most of this time training in militarized Hives, stocking war materials and straining the bureaucracy to near breaking point. Potemnus VIII and General Militant Sears Wessex's orders were broadcasted through the vox. Being the capital planet of the Orres System, regiments on Orres Prime had the honor to receive Potemnus VIII and Sears Wessex's orders directly. Planets in neighboring star systems under Potemnus' jurisdiction had to rely on the Astropaths.

And it was only then did the Guardsman know about their destination. He had guessed that the Orresian regiments were raised for some Crusade. 'Those that decide' have standard Imperial Protocol to follow, and the guards' best option is to pray and obey. Massive troop transports that could hold an entire Orresian regiment were loaded to the brim and lifted off Prima Contact, the oldest and most massive of the starports. It was the Guardsman's first time in Hive Primary, a massive flat-top mega complex that is almost three quarters star-port and atmospheric dockyards. Its splendorous architecture and massive basilicas made all the others look like village shacks. He never thought that such architectural devotion to the Emperor is ever physically or mentally possible. But before him it stood, the Triumphal Arch of the Emperor, erected when the first Potemnus arrived. Subsequent Potemnuses had to carry the entire arch up to the Spire as the hive cities grew, and Potemnus VIII had it settled right in the middle of Starport Pass.

The Orresian regiments marched down the wide roadway of concrete, steel and banners. It was so wide that if a guardsman stood at the decorated paveway of one side, he would not be able to see his friend on the other. Everything followed a strict time table. On a mobilization this scale, a single regiment is but a small gear teeth in the gargantuan organization that ran more smoothly than any other, except perhaps the Adeptus Mechanicus. The company is almost insignificant, and a single guard is a mere miniscule decimal. He's not even a zero. Adding a zero to a number multiplies it by a factor of ten. Only the Adeptus Astartes qualify in that aspect.

The 97th company of Orresian 11th marched to the sound of the drummers and trumpeteers with their las rifles shouldered, looking their best and proudest since Potemnus' personal address. The Guardsman was flanked by Boyle Young, Janus Bring, Reeve Stoic, Greg 'Boomer' and Chris Bastion (he had no last name but Bastion was preferred), the old guard of the 97th. Bern Hertz did not join them. He threw himself off the top of a cathedral, leaving his prosthetic limbs, his medal, a farewell note and a self-composed will that bequeathed all his belongings to the 97th. An honorary Sergeant was an insufficient award, and neither was the Medallion Crimson. But most important of all was that his older half-brother and sister-in-law, both citizens in the Spire, were instigated in the fallout as the Ordos Hereticus cleansed the bureaucracy. The sentence was harsher on the woman. She was burnt as a heretic. Bern's half-brother was hanged.

Bern Hertz was not a complete bad egg. He just had an affair with his half-brother's wife, the reason why he sought refuge in the guards after his half-brother found out. He apologized to the Guardsman and the rest of the squad mates for his obtrusive behavior and attitude, and especially to those who died. To the Lieutenant he wrote another personal note, that he was very, very sorry about Sarai, and that he understood how he felt. Love kills. In closing, he said he wanted to see his lover quickly, be it in hell, purgatory or at the Emperor's side. In many ways the Guardsman thought that Bern was similar to him, but where the Guardsman had good grace and faith, Bern was bitter and depressed, and he never could get himself out. The Guardsman requested that the Medallion Crimson awarded to Bern be kept in the company. The regimental command disapproved, and had the Medallion returned to the Guards Headquarters. Real men don't jump off buildings. Real men suffer in the name of the Emperor and continue to say his graces.

The regiment marched onto their transport vessel _Ardent Wings_. It's a massive vessel of Orresian Transport Liner class, manufactured in the dockyards of Orres Prime-Beta, a once habitable orbiting Moon of Orres that's well on its way of becoming a Forge outpost. Potemnus was not keen on losing whatever control he had left over the dockyards to a Master-Artisan of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and hence Orresian transport vessels are substandard, a compromise that Potemnus is willing to have. Nevertheless, it was not a ship held together by crude hammers and bolts. On the contrary, the Guardsman thought that it was a work of art as the companies were settled in and the armored vehicles were latched onto the cargo bays. The massive engines whirled and bellowed, and lifted the entire two hundred thousand terran-ton vessel slowly off the stardock. Many men got queasy as the vessel trembled and swayed slowly from side to side. And before anyone could realize it, they're in Space.

It was the Guardsman's first time going into orbit, and being the First Lieutenant of a decorated company he got a windowed personal cubicle. The whirling green atmosphere of Orres Prime is oddly beautiful, as was that huge vessel that was burning up and getting shot to pieces. Everyone at first thought that it was a shooting star or whatever the astronomers and astronomicans called it. But it was actually the _High Flyer _that carried the Orresian 24th. The anti-grav core gave away to strains and substandard containment, causing the vessel's two centers of gravity to rip the vessel in half. The largest chunks of the doomed vessel were fired upon and broken apart by orbital defense guns to prevent them from possibly colliding with the Hives. Atmosphere and friction would take care of the smaller pieces. Eight thousand guardsmen and a hundred fifty crewmen were dead in less than an hour, from the Lord Colonel to the lowly guard. And it's all because Lord Potemnus did not want the Master-Artisan to be fully in charge of Orres Prime-Beta. Such is the reality of Imperium.


	7. The Crusade's Bugle

Chapter 007

The armada of the Holy Fleet sat still at a geostationary orbit several thousand kilometers above Orres Prime. The billion-tonne battleship_Crest of the Emperor _swallowed a few of the select transport liners that carried the toughest regiments from amongst the thousand two hundred that Potemnus had raised. Orresian 11th was one of them, and the Guardsman could hardly find words to praise the Emperor's magnificence as _Ardent Wings _carried the regiment closer and closer to the vessel. The splendorous battleship was covered with golden liveries and status of saints, fusion cannon arrays the size of a five story residential block and turrets that would probably require its own power generator to be turned and bear the Emperor's Judgment against the enemies of Man. The main guns itself dwarves the _Ardent Wings_ and the massive barrel appears as though it can smash the military liner into smithereens with a single hit. The Guardsman was speechless. This vessel is the very epitome of the Imperium. Massive, magnificent and sublime, it is the Emperor's will and the craft of the Fabricator Generals made manifest.

"Regiment attention!" older Model's voice came alive at the voice cast. "Prepare to disembark, ETA 23 terran minutes." The eight thousand men of the Orresian 11th immediately proceeded down the massive checklists and protocols for disembarking. The armor will disembark first with the relevant companies, followed by the prima-decas. The remaining guards will assist the quartermastery in hauling the supplies and munitions down. Fortunately, being a decorated regiment, there are no penal companies. Well, if one is ever curious about men serving penalties, the closest one would be the 97th with ex-Major Reeve Stoic.

Major Liutgard, the battalion commander that led the 21th through 27th, 38th, 97th and 114th, was the direct superior to the Guardsman. Liutgard had a command sword, a most exquisite work of art that his ancestors crafted for their sons. Unlike most majors that are largely human, Liutgard was a recipient of several major bionic replacements, squandering his family fortunes with these outfits. But the Major felt that it was worth it. Liutgard liked to consider that he is nearly as good as the space marines with state of the art prosthetics, simulated-synaptic feedback mechanisms and twice the brains given his noble upbringing. All of these allowed him to literally play the harpsichord with his toes. Major Liutgard enjoyed talking to the Guardsman about music, out of all things, and had him sing to him a couple of times while he played the harpsichord. He told the Guardsman that he is a good tenor, and the Guardsman never found out what it meant.

"My foremost tenor, voice of the 97th and most honored Lieutenant! We will be having a regimental meeting on board the _Crest_ once we're settled in, which would probably take another 60 minutes, be sure you are in chamber cabin 0176 before 2100 standard Orresian Guards-time. Set your watch to mine." Liutgard grinned, showing his metallic teeth. It helps to crunch Grox thigh bones and eat the oily marrow within. And Liutgard loved bone marrow.

The Guardsman nodded and saluted. "I will be there promptly." The simple watch of the Guardsman was synchronized to the exquisite silver pocket device of Liutgard. The biomechanical Major then continued his round, visiting the 114th led by First Lieutenant Bell Thyme. Bonan remained a sergeant, given that he was part of the attempted insurrection at the Health Services. It's a busy schedule after disembarkation , and the Guardsman know that he's not given the luxury of time.

XXX

"_So the ignorant asks, what is the Imperial Navy? It is but a series of massive cathedral complexes centered around the space redoubts and fortresses, its pride the Imperial Battleship. They are only made for a single purpose: worship of the eternal Emperor. Each vessel of the Holy Fleet carries a massive theocracy known as the Navy-men, a breed separate from all other men that is bound to the prison known as the planet. The holy fraternity of the navy prays for war and dishes it out in kilo-tonnes of explosive shells, plasma globes, missiles and torpedoes as a kind father chaplain gives out holy wafers for the faithful masses. To keep this vessel of destruction together in its everlasting praise, there is a throng of indentured and ever penitent prisoners guided by their lord masters: techpriests, technomagi, artisans and menials from the Adeptus Mechanicus. The Machine Priests make rounds through the basilica of war, reciting passages of coil, gear and cable, alluding to the joule, watt and coulomb, perhaps spells with cryptic meanings in their religious text. The Machine Spirit must be appeased to guarantee a save passage through the stars. _

"_The Ecclesiarchy maintains a strong presence aboard any Imperial vessel. Thousands of men worship endlessly on a single vessel, keeping the faith of the countless other tens of thousands and to maintain a constant vigil against the abominations of the warp. The inbred Navigators of the most holy clans follow the Path and Beacon, that golden ray of light which is projected from Holy Terra by tens of thousands of sanctioned psykers in the Astronomican…"_ The Guardsman rubbed his tired eyes. All this talk about Warp and inbreeding families felt like some delusional story or fantasy. He shelved the book _Imperial Navy_ on one of the massive cabinets sitting in the Lower Library and looked at his watch. He has only about twenty minutes to get to Chamber Cabin 0176.

The corridors of the ship's Holds are not well kept. Age is evident everywhere. Even the group of techpriests that walked past him seemed ancient, neglectful and oblivious to the sad state of conditions around them. Chamber Cabin 0176 was only large enough for all the sixty uniformed officers of the 11th regiment. It was a tight squeeze. The Guards, however, were used to the harshness of life. Only Lieutenant Colonel Henson Model seemed to be in discomfort, muttering things under his breath. It has probably to do with the Admiralty's upbringing and parenting. The group socialized for a while until the regimental commander ascended a make-shift dais of small storage boxes that the prima-deca Majors put together.

"Gentlemen, boys, brothers and comrades. We have trained, marched, toiled and bled together, most for two years, some for slightly longer, and some for only about two hundred days. It does not matter. We are the Guards and our fraternity is everlasting." Lord Colonel Louis Model seemed to be in high spirits today. The officers of the regiment stood before him by rank. The Guardsman, being a First Lieutenant, got the last row, but he could still see and hear the Colonel clearly. The ugly burns that took half of his face proved Essesohn's words. Thanks to Mick, the older Model is addressing them instead of the elitist younger Model. _The wounds and scars of the guard are the most solid evidence of his loyal service and dedication to the Emperor of Man._

The room exploded with a thunderous applause, as well as shouts that hailed the Emperor and the Orresian 11th. Everyone smashed their palms together, except for the attached Commissariat. Orresian 11th used to have only 5 Commissars (if Essesohn counted as one). It tripled to 15, not because the regiment needed discipline, but _because they are deemed worthy and the Commissariat would reduce casualties._ The Guardsman is all of a sudden reminded of Essesohn, and for some reason he is starting to miss the old stone-eater.

"And the question is: WHY? Why do we pluck you from the sorry masses of Orres Prime? Why do we even bother to set up booths down in the Undercity and even spoke nicely to you? Heck, why do we even pay you to be in the Guards?"

"To defend the Empire of Man and crush the enemies of the Emperor! For such is the duty of the Guards!" the reply was in unison and loud. One of the Commissars grinned, if only a bit. The Guardsman tried to look between the rows at the Commissariat that stood in a neat row facing them with those grim looks. The tallest and most scarred of them is probably the infamous Lord Wittsburgh, chief of the attaché.

"Looks like recruitment didn't choose numbskulls and training didn't make you stupid. THIS! This is our enemy!" Louis Model thundered as the room darkened and a crude cellophane projector made a blurry image on a wall of the room. The focus was quickly readjusted to provide a bit more clarity. It seems to be a constellation of sorts.

"Two decade ago these nice stars that the Imperium granted the magnificent name of Vermandois were under the care and guidance of the Emperor. And then some soft boned and semi-short aliens came along. WHOOSH. Gone. In less than a year! Incredulous!" Louis Model was so indignant that the Guardsman thought he would say something about the alien's mothers.

"Lord Colonel, are questions allowed in this discussion?" someone from the middle raised his hands. He was rather short, only about a meter and sixty, since the Guardsman can't see his head at all.

"First Lieutenant Lem 'Truly' Bold, why do you think the Commissariat is here? Shut your crap." the older Model snapped. He knew every single one in this room, and that includes their family, middle and popular names if they had any, and even recognized their voices. The Guardsman can't speak the same for Henson. In any case, Lem Bold became quieter and made sure that even his breathes is hard to hear. "Now that Bold has decided to seal his lips I think I have the permission to go on. The Vermandois system: a cluster of stars with a total population of 32.8 billion according to the last census a hundred and sixteen terran years ago. Lovely, aren't they." Pictures of some of the more populous globes were shown. All of them were jewels of blue, white, green and sandy yellow. For the Orresians, such worlds can only be known as paradise. "Now the question to you is: How did this cluster fall?"

"They didn't have the guards." Major Liutgard, standing in the front row, answered.

"NOT quite. They didn't have enough FAITH. And that's why they're sending us, the most faithful of the Emperor's hammer. We are to beat the xenos until their own mothers can't even recognize them from Grox shit. AND to make an example of the traitors and collaborators to remind the rest that the Emperor is Just, and that the Emperor does NOT forgive transgressions. First Lieutenant Jules Sax, I will have the next picture." The next cellophane picture was up. Vessels of non-human designs were shown. Unlike the floating Cathedrals and basilicas that spread the Emperor's righteous fury, these vessels were ugly and gray.

"Xeno-vessels. Note the markings. They call themselves 'Tau'. We have records from the Damocles Crusade that would be helpful to all of you so that you would know what type of enemy you will be slaughtering, gutting and smashing to pieces." old Model rambled on. "Records kept in Departmento Ministorum tell us that their sorry excuses of ships are but merchantmen when compared to the Holy Fleet." This made the lower ranking officers felt more at ease. The scene of _High Flyer_ breaking up in the atmosphere cast a shadow that many found hard to simply brush away and forget.

"And here is a few of the alien in question." A series of pictures of the humanoid alien was shown. The Guardsman realized that they're not as ugly as he thought. They have gray-blue skins that maybe a result of improper photo emulsion treatment of the pictures. They also don't have noses, but have two eyes, a mouth and the warriors kept a tuft of hair. The Guards shave themselves bald as often as they could in comparison.

"And here is a weapon of their make, a gift from Departmento Munitorum." The lights were turned back on again. "Of course this is not the original, but was guaranteed to work like one." Old Model chuckled as he mentioned to young Henson who tossed him a quaint looking rifle. It looked more like a toy than a weapon. The long boxy furniture probably made of a plasto-ceramic composite extended all the way down the barrel and housed it in the middle. Crude sights were mounted on it. The Colonel felt the center of gravity and mounted it on his shoulder. "Note that they have shorter limbs than we do, and hence my awkward firing position."

And then the Colonel fired at a target that the Guardsman thought was an oddly still storm trooper when he first entered the room. The plasma beam that streamed from the barrel burnt a hole right through the armored marionette. "Lieutenant Colonel Henson, bring Jack Johnson the stereotypical storm trooper to the front and show the gentlemen what the xeno weapons can do." Henson got up and carried the heavy marionette to the front of the cabin. The beam went right through the carapace armor, the questionable pseudo-flesh simulator in between and the back carapace as well.

"I am sure some of you felt that our plasma guns could do the same thing. But these guns don't explode or overheat. Even the duplicates are surprisingly stable and the beam cohesion is every rifleman's wetdream. The only thing that's preventing us from adopting this piece of fantastic weaponry is its cost." Louis Model explained. "The duplicate required the use of advanced miniaturization in every single aspect – the power cell, the conduit, beam cohesion electromagnets, cooling and even the goddamned trigger. Those Xenos have an unfair advantage – they have smaller fingers. I could hardly get my own finger into or out of the trigger guard because of that. They probably also have smaller phalluses if they have any." Most of the men sniggered and some tried hard not to laugh. The Commissariat stood as still as ever.

"Now before I go off and sound like a Fabricator General or Machine Cultist to you, I would like to remind you why I am showing you this flash toy. EVERY SINGLE ONE of those GODDAMNED gray-blue freaks is armed with this, and with Michelin Joy's accuracy to boot if our comrades and brothers from the Damocles didn't over-exaggerate the enemy's prowess to cover up their shortcomings." the Guardsman gulped. Not because the Tau were supposedly armed with super-advanced rifles, but because Louis Model actually remembered Mick and that he was a good shot. He shook the grief away quickly.

Pictures of smooth robot were shown as the room darkened once more. These robots made the Guards' bipedal Sentinel scout walkers look like crude contraptions from the Junkyard. A few pictures of armored Tau were also shown, one of them pointing at the cameraman with the body language of surprise. Picture's probably taken during real action. "I am personally glad that the Munitorum unclassified these pictures for regimental access because I also had no idea what their elites look like. This biggie is an elite or chieftain, and the smaller ones are their warriors." Soft murmurs began to float around the room. Everyone now has a lethal urge to raise questions, but kept their hands down. _Asking questions is a permitted privilege, not a right._

"The Tau order of operations is swift mobility combined with tremendous firepower. It's a shoot and scoot strategy that allow the entire army to function like a sniper. These blueys have no concept of glory, no concept of honor and no concept of what some of you call a good honest fight. Henson, what's a good honest fight?"

"It's an oxymoron, Lord Colonel." Henson replied. "The only thing that matters is that we're the ones left standing. And then we can make up anything we want about the enemy and ourselves."

"There you go. That's the answer I want all of you to remember. There's no such thing as a good honest fight. These guys fight to WIN. That's the bottom line. And that's OUR bottom line. We will crush them and purge them from the Universe. This place is better without them or their toys. I am allowing and expecting intelligent questions for the remaining of this session." the Old Model looked grim, but still oddly high in spirits.

"Lord Colonel, what are the odds?" some one raised his hand and asked. The Guardsman could hardly see him.

"A stupid question. The odds are always in our favor so long as we have the Immortal Emperor on our side. Lord Governor Potemnus raised a thousand regiments in Orres Prime alone, and probably another two hundred from the rest of the system. That gives us about a hundred million men, and trust me, this is not the first time that the Imperium is sending a Crusade this size. First Lieutenant Jimbo Pyers should read his Uplifting Primer more often so that his questions can get smarter. Or maybe Jimbo Pyers can start with the alphabets first. NEXT!"

"Lord Colonel, I just want to ask about their elites. Their elites are robots?" the clean faced and newly promoted 1st Company Major Nigel Maine asked.

"No. Those are not robots but battlesuits. Some form of non-intrusive bionic extension according to Munitorum records. Why don't you cap a few and find out for us, Major Maine?" The prima-decas First Lieutenants and Majors chuckled.

"Lord Colonel, are they good at melee?" Lem Bold raised his arm and asked.

"First Lieutenant Lem 'Truly' Bold, they are half a head shorter than you on average. Are children between 13-15 years of age any good in fighting? This is an obviously stupid question. If you have toys like theirs, would you play fisticuffs or would you play 'I'm gonna make you into a beehive'? And you lead the 3rd Company. I can't imagine Lieutenant Colonel Henson promoted a ham fisted obsessive dwarf like you." Louis Model was insultingly funny to the extreme. His son didn't find the joke funny, though.

"Lord Colonel, what of the 30 billion souls that live in the Vermandois cluster?" the Guardsman asked. It was the first question that came from the back.

"First Lieutenant…whatever. They call you Church-boy. I will just call you Church. Right, Church of the 97th, thank you for the first intelligent question of this session. Lord Commissar Wittsburgh will carry it from here." old Louis didn't happen to know everyone's names, after all. The Guardsman felt somewhat disappointed. The grim faced Wittsburgh, Chief Commissar of the Orresian 11th attaché got up the dais. His face is pitiless, probably from all the stones he ate.

"Chapter XII verse 19: _Do not forgive the traitor, for mercy would only teach the value of treason to those around him. Do not forgive the heretic, for soft-heartedness would only teach the value of blasphemy to those that heard him. Do not forgive, for there's no forgiveness from the Emperor, and the Emperor will award those that hear his words and carry out his Holy Words._" Wittsburgh recited. "Should the population fail to rouse themselves against their alien overlords when the banner of the Emperor and His Most Holy Aquila makes contact with the soil, we will treat them as the xenophile and traitor. No mercy."

XXX

The Guardsman retired to his bunk after the meeting at 0176, going past another group of ancient tech-priests that did not even seem to notice him. He honored an Hour for the Emperor and did his calisthenics: three rounds of standard back-breaker circuits, so called since it prepares the guardsman to carry squad operated heavy weapons by himself in times of urgency or necessity. He prepared his bunk, made another short prayer, and laid still on the bed with his eyes open. Crusade! A war of such epic proportions it would make the brutal bloodbath of Hive 15 look like a playground fight between two children. A hundred million men to conquer the worlds taken from the Emperor's Light, who knows how long this war would last, and how many millions of the guards would die. The Guardsman doesn't even want to think about the people of Vermandois, whom he never met or even heard about until today.

"Lieutenant." Reeve Stoic is standing outside the make shift cubicle of rack and linen. "Regimental command has issued an order to give the hold a makeover."

The Guardsman jumped out of his bed as being hit by an electric shock. Reeve Stoic, the forty year old veteran of numerous battles, does not seem to be in any unease with his demotion or punishment. He carried out his duties and obligations as Private First Class to the letter. The entire hold is alive with guardsmen scrambling to scrub the floors and constructing a makeshift headquarters for their regimental commanders.

Sergeant Boyle Young and Chris Bastion carried buckets of water swimming with floating rust particles and assorted grime. "I think the navy-boys want the guards to clean this place up for them."

"I don't think the Navy boys care, Sergeant." Chris Bastion retorted. "I think someone important is coming."

The Guardsman had been working at the floor for more than an hour and his arms are terribly sore. Stoic quickly mopped the foul grime up and wringed the green-grey rag in a bucket. "Lieutenant Church, you don't really have to do this. The other First Lieutenants are giving out orders."

"Stoic, I think you'd be doing the same thing if you were the Lieutenant." the Guardsman said. "And my name's not Church, it's…." The lieutenant of the 97th was cut off by a hard arm pat to his back which almost made him fall onto the floor.

"Church! What are you doing? Mopping the floor with the rest of the plodders?" the clean faced Major Nigel Maine of the 1st Company laughed as he pulled the Guardsman to his feet. Stoic turned away and continued his mopping quietly. "You should learn how to look like an officer, or at the very least, get used to being called an officer."

"Major Maine." the Guardsman saluted with a secret grudge. Stoic is already trying to melt into the background.

"And what is up with ex-Major Stoic, Lieutenant? He doesn't seem eager to see me."

"Well…" the Guardsman is only surprised that the double-crosser is still expecting good graces from the superior he backstabbed.

"Well what? Bah, I can't talk properly with all these subordinates crawling around on all fours wiping some century old grime. We'll go somewhere nice and quiet…and clean." Nigel Maine wrapped his arms around the Guardsman and dragged him away to a clean cubicle with insulating walls and a real bed instead of some hanging cot. "You know what, Church, if I didn't do it, you would, right? Come on now, don't give me that look. We undercitizens are the worst. Always looking for a way out of our trampled positions, climbing up no matter the stakes, grabbing and wresting till all our fingers are worn down to the very palms."

"Major Maine?" the Guardsman had always regarded Nigel Maine as some rich man's son or at the minimal a middle-citizen. They only recruit the best for the Storm Troopers.

"Can't believe it, right?" Nigel Maine took off his low cap and scratched his bald head. "Appearance, Church! It's everything to those up there. We're very much the same. We stayed away from narcotics, and keep our appearance nice, neat and shiny such that those old cronies can get a hard-on by looking at us. And don't think the Storm Troopers recruit from the best. They recruit from those that are the most reliable. And orphans that they brainwashed are reliable. The cronies would then work from this pool, weeding out the weak in the process. What is Hive 4 to you?"

"A Hive dedicated to the training of elite companies and regiments."

"Wrong answer, Church. That's why you're stuck here. You're not smart enough. I thought you'd have figured it already. Hive 4 is a live battleground, a butcher shop, a force of selection and where Potemnus executes thousands of people en masse. Criminals from the entire Orres System are shipped there in their tens of thousands to provide training material for the candidates to the elite companies. The weak are weeded out from the impressionable by these criminals, cybers and other assorted monsters. You think that thing they called Gramps is a weird alien infested loonie that just popped out of nowhere? Wrong, buddy. I saw his body, and I bet its one of those grade-triple-A-materials they intend to use for the prima-decas heresy-squad training. Something gone wrong in the shipping and he ended up in a place where he can build his own army. And no one seemed to be instigated. No inquiry was done about it."

"But he started his cult over a decade ago! You couldn't have…" the Guardsman could not grasp the truth that the thing that caused the deaths of tens of thousands in Hive 15 was an escaped criminal.

"A decade ago I was 16, Church. Perfect time for the graduate training and where they try their best to kill us. You're just ten. What do you know? Probably still couldn't wipe your own arse. I remember that graduate training test, with Reeve Stoic there supervising. He, some others, and the Commissariat, were moved to Orres by the Departmento Munitorum to lead us. Stoic is a heartless man, Church. Make no mistakes about that. He just stood up there watching us getting shot, chopped and devoured by the monsters they called Orks, pig faced apes that killed for fun. I don't hate him, though. He's just doing his job. And he shouldn't hate me either. I am trained, no, CONDITIONED to report anything that would disregard command hierarchy. This is why they made me a Major, Church. Not because I am a backstabber, but that I am trained to excel and crush in the Name of the Emperor. And I wouldn't be surprised if Stoic is trained in a similar manner. Stoic has only himself to blame."

"Why are you telling me this, Major?" the Guardsman was aghast.

"Because I sort of see myself in you. We're both the unwanted, thrown out in the streets when our biological parents can no longer afford to keep us around. However, you got picked up by some nice albeit deranged lunatic, while I got picked up by things worse than lunatics. I'd rather be you if given the choice, Church. An insignificant decimal in the Imperial Guards, having erroneous opinions about life and see all things with a pinkish hue." Nigel Maine put his low cap on. "Trust me, Church, you don't want me on your bad side. And I know the way you looked at me all this while. Just trying to warn you."

"Yes, Major Maine."

"No shit, Church. Pure hardcore honesty here. And you probably shouldn't go back cleaning with the plodders. An ordered hierarchy is what keeps the Guards functional. Now leave before the others get upset that someone under Major Liutgard is seeing me." The Major of the 1st Company dismissed him from his cubicle by waving his two fingers.

The brief conversation with Nigel Maine made the Guardsman sympathize somewhat with his position, though he could not stop feeling bad for Reeve Stoic. Stoic has always been unusually quiet and hardly talked. The cleaning was done after a few more hours of back-breaking work, and the regimental colors were brought forth and hung on the plasteel headquarters in the massive Hold in full regimental view. What made the guards furious, however, is that they washed the hold only to share it with several thousand indentured serfs resting from their 48 terran hour shifts.

"Now seriously, Lieutenant Church-boy, how would they expect us to share the hold with these men without tongue or will? To think that they treat the guards like this…" Boyle Young commented.

"This is so fucked up. Some of them don't even know how to control their bowels." Greg 'Boomer' nodded and said with much disgust. "Fucking gross. It reminds me of the Heretics of Rot again."

"And I thought their overlords of the Adeptus Mechanicus could solve this." Boyle Young added.

The Guardsman shook his head. The Machine Priests probably don't care. They think in terms of wear and tear, of numbers and possibility. They probably know that the Guards aren't going to raise any ruckus about this. "Have you guys seen Stoic?"

"Newp. Never seen him for a few hours already." Boyle doesn't seem to care too much about the ex-Major. Everyone's avoiding him for some reason.

"Probably reading a book or something. He reads a lot, Church-boy. As much as you, probably." Greg said. "He's in the Lower Library if I am not mistaken."

"I will see him there."

Reeve Stoic was just shelving _Imperial Campaigns_ when the Guardsman came. He saluted promptly and smartly. "Lieutenant…"

"Stoic, I have a few questions for you."

"Ask away, Sir. I will answer all I know."

"About Nigel Maine…"

"Don't worry about Major Maine, Lieutenant. He's a good boy. I never blamed him for what he did. I was glad about it, to be honest." Stoic replied. "I never expected to be a Major. Perhaps as a training instructor for regular regiments. It's my first time leading a Storm Trooper company, and you wouldn't want to know the brutal environment they've been through." _But I know already._

"You said you served in Mossberg. Why would they make you lead a Storm Trooper company in Orres?" the Guardsman decided to ask another thing on this mind.

"I thought you'd already known the obvious, Lieutenant. They probably want someone experienced in a large-scale war to lead the prima-decas and the elite regiments of the Imperial Guard." Stoic answered. "An organizational experiment undertook by the Departmento Munitorum to have experienced officers leading fresh regiments and to further standardize the military command structure based on the Cadian pattern. A Crusade, Lieutenant. That's why a native of Mossberg or Cadia like Lord Commissar Esssohn and countless others are here. A Crusade to retake some worlds God-knows-where back from some God-damned xenos. But my take on it, probably the Tau."

"You know about it? It's supposed to be classified to the Lieutenant level."

"Lieutenant, I was Major before you. Yes I know they didn't say anything about the Crusade at all before moving us to this ship, but I have brains too, and I am semi-literate and do enjoy reading in my spare time, sir. Now, sir, get ready for some dose of reality."

"Yes?" the Guardsman looked at Stoic, who turned grim faced all of a sudden.

"You don't want to be in any Crusade. You know why the guardsman is called a decimal? After every war the size of committed guardsmen is divided by a factor of ten if not by a hundred. We don't even qualify to be a single 'one'. If there's the space marines involved they're probably just going to drop the Guards altogether and make the whole thing sound as if a single company of one thousand supers single handedly defeated a planetary garrison. It makes humanity look strong. But in truth, every single major victory involves tens of millions of dead guardsmen, if not hundreds of millions or even billions. Be mentally prepared to lose everyone you know, Lieutenant. It's not going to be easy. Just then I tried to see how many of us actually died at Mossberg. The book summed it up nicely in a line: _Xeno-infestation in Mossberg, pacified by a detachment of Guards_. A detachment! It sounds as if half a regiment did it. It sounds as if only a couple of our brothers-at-arms died."

The Guardsman could feel the deep sorrow that lies harbored in the chest of Reeve Stoic, and he could see the emotional outburst as the ex-Major held back his tears. "I will retire and recite a few chapters. Make sure you get some rest, Stoic."

"If that helps, Lieutenant Church." Stoic shook his head. "If that helps."


	8. Warp Turbulence

Chapter 008

It almost seemed like a week until the first wave of crusaders were loaded onto the battle barges. The Guardsman knew by now that the guards would attack in 3 prongs, each with 3 consecutive waves. The first wave would make a three pronged strike at the heart of the Vermandois cluster and seize the hub-world of Baldwin Alpha. The aliens would, naturally, try to retake the planet. By then the Guards would have dug-in and give the aliens a good beating. The other two waves would make use of the attritional magnet at Baldwin and move in to the other worlds, expecting easy battles given that these worlds are depleted of their garrisons. Basically the Third Battle for Florentine Beta as described in _Imperium Tactica Volume IV_ on an unprecedented scale. Estimated casualties – at least twenty million, dead, that is. And Stoic said that he was being optimistic.

The Guardsman knew that even if they win, no one would be going back to Orres except for those that lead and decide. The guards would settle directly on the conquered worlds, effectively replacing the xenophilic population with one that worships only the Emperor and brings swift death to the alien. Or as the crude would put it: _The guards will kill all the traitors, and help themselves to the women and convert them to the rightful path._ Lord Potemnus would add the Vermandois system to his repertoire and sphere of influence, and probably even make a bid for Segmentum Commandery in the Eastern Fringe.

However, the journey didn't start off too well. No one told them about the realities Warp space or Warp travel. The Guardsman now realized the importance of all those inbred Navigators. Real space is quiet and serene, Warp Space was the opposite. No one knew when they moved into the warp precisely. It's a mystery that most are trying to solve, but being locked down in the Holds is not going to help with the investigation very far. Suffice to say, half the guards in the regiment were woken up by loud freakish howls that ran through the hallways, and the other half that didn't had really bad nightmares. Not even the storm troopers of the prima-decas were spared. A couple had to receive attention from the attached Ecclesiarchy. Primate Neusonn Marjory, the spindly priest, did some violent exorcism on those poor souls. They're as good as gone.

Everyday was pure mental torture to the guards as they sat in the hold eating mush-slosh with the Primate leading them in constant prayer. The howling never ceased. It was a supernatural and metallic voice that resonated down the massive hulls of the ship, and some of the more curious ones started keeping track of 'words' that they thought they had been hearing. The Ecclesiarchy found that to be a heinous trespass and these men were castigated before the entire regiment, and were duly 'exorcised' as well. Isolated non-living objects also behaved rather differently for brief moments. Sergeant Boyle Young swore that his canteen bowl was floating and speaking to him for a while, and was rather insulted when his old platoon and squad mates found that to be unbelievable.

Even the Guardsman had trouble with Boyle's story until his aquila necklace started burning for no apparent reason. It seared a mark on his skin before the Guardsman tore it off and throw it on the floor where it continued to shine brightly for a few minutes. The Guardsman could have sworn that the howling turned into a maniacal laughter for a few seconds. It took him another two days to be brave enough to pick up the necklace up again. When he mentioned it to Boyle, the mechanic-obsessive sergeant laughed so hard that he almost choked on his jumbo-pie. "And I thought mine story was more believable! Dude, I was just trying to scare the shit out of you guys." Boyle coughed and then proceeded to wolf down the artificially flavored pie that he smuggled from regimental command.

"There's a burn mark! I swear, Young." the Guardsman bared his chest. Young stared at the smooth and broad pectorals.

"Nice chest, Lieutenant. Really nice. You want me to suckle it or something? There's no burn marks, Church-boy." Boyle Young observed carefully. The Guardsman looked down, and was shocked to learn that Boyle was right. The burn mark had disappeared. _But it all felt so real. This is sheer madness!_

It all came to the bottom line: Warp travel is distressing and confusing. The men hated it. The Ecclesiarchy and Priesthood on board the mighty vessel recited holy chapters and cantatas, and the great bells of the floating chapel tolled without a pause. It gave them things to do when time and distance have no real meaning.

"Bah, it's as if they're trying to out-shout each other." Greg 'Boomer' said.

"I wonder what's on the vox?" Boyle Young joked. "Probably something awfully nice."

"You know, that's actually an interesting question. Maybe I should tune the dials to find out." Greg looked at his vox and had an urge to flip the switch on.

"I am sorry, Greg. The Brothers of Faith had made it clear. No live vox in warp. It would distract the Navigators." the Guardsman was behind Greg's back faster than a flash.

"Lieutenant, I wish there's a window somewhere. What's going on outside? I mean, sure, we're at the bottom decks of this big boat, but at least have an opening so we can see outside!" Greg said. "Can't believe they treat the Guards like crap."

"At least we got rodents down here. You know the 25th company caught some really good fat ones and they've been breeding them for roast." Boyle Young took out some questionable meat on a stick and chewed thoughtfully. "If you ask me, warp space is probably purple, with a lot of naked girls. All that howling is the shame of the Ecclesiarchy at their own impotence."

"No jokes about the Priesthood, Young. They're doing their best to keep us safe." the Guardsman didn't like Young's skepticism. Chris Bastion snored. He started hibernating the very moment they got into warp. He only got up to eat and do some limited calisthenics.

"I envy that guy." Greg said. "I really do. All he does is eat and sleep. I couldn't even sleep with all that chanting and howling and bell ringing and exorcism bullshit going on around me."

"You'll get used to it, Greg." the Guardsman assured him. "You should try to read a few pages of the Primer everyday…"

"What is a day, Lieutenant? There's no day here. Just lights on and lights off, and even that is behaving like some fucking whore!" Greg retorted.

"Well, if you want, I can lead you in the recitations." And so the 'days' in warp went past much quicker when the 97th organized recitation of the Uplifting Primer. Greg fell asleep on numerous occasions, retreating to the solace of warp hibernation. Others, mostly ex-Keepers from the Undercity, benefited from learning the alphabets and how to read. Primate Neusonn Marjory frequented the company more often than not as a result of this. The Guardsman personally felt that the ranked priest is a naïve idealist, seeing things in black and white, and too easy to please. But other companies told the First Lieutenant that Marjory is an apostle of hell and brimstone, bent on making every moment of their lives miserable. _Guess they should probably start with the Primer._

XXX

The dull inactivity was interrupted after a few 'days' of swimming in the immaterial. The entire vessel shook so violently that the Guardsman thought they have collided onto an asteroid or something bigger. He managed to kick open the jammed door of the dilapidated bathroom cubicle and went out into the poop deck hallway, only to see Greg came running and screaming, pale faced. Two other guardsmen that shambled after him had shamelessly wet their pants.

"No! First Lieutenant! I am sorry! I never meant it! They made it do it!" Greg stammered as the two other men besides him stopped and panted.

"Do what? Calm down, Greg." the Guardsman tried to shake some sense into the company vox-man. Failing to bring him back to semi-sanity, he commanded: "Guardsman! Recite the opening verse of the Primer!"

"Recite! Yes, yes! Recite! I…mah…The Guards! Yes, the Guards! With this oath I pledge myself as the guardsman, the door-keeper and soldier, the worshipper of the Emperor's Might of Arms…no! Lieutenant! They forced me to do it!" Greg was on the verge of emotional break down, and the two others with him started laughing hysterically. To the Guardsman horror, two creatures ripped themselves out of the skin and uniforms and extended their tendrils tipped with horn and dripping with some vile fluids.

"This is rich…" the Guardsman pulled out his las pistol and fired at the monstrosities, searing a hole in one of their forehead. A hardened tendril shot out and narrowly missed the Guardsman's neck, punching a hole in the steel wall. The Guardsman fired again and seared away the second creature's tentacle, making it howl with some unearthly metallic voice. The next squeeze on the trigger produced an empty report from the las pistol. _High time for the batteries to run out._ Given that the vox was kept inactive, he could not contact regimental headquarters or warn anyone aboard the vessel. Greg was already trying to run away on all fours, crying and mumbling. The Guardsman picked the big man up and the two of them continued their flight as fast as their legs could carry them.

An alarm lever was just around the corner. The Guardsma stopped to pull it down, only to discover that it was not functional. "Ridiculous!" the Guardsman pounded on the mechanism, and heard sounds of battle from upstairs. _So I think they're aptly warned already. _Greg was still muttering non-sense when they reached the pandemonium in the massive corridor leading to the holds. Thanks to an intact regimental command structure and the commissariat, a company of guardsmen were holding their own against hundreds if not thousands of blobs and monstrosities of all sizes and shapes, which swarmed ever onwards as the guardsmen emptied batteries of las fire into them. Puddings and blobs slithered out of the ventilation shafts, killing the humanoid spawns or desperately trying to get within melee range of the guards to unleash their deadly tendrils.

"Lieutenant! Thank goodness! I don't know where these guys come from!" Boyle Young shouted from behind the makeshift barrier. "Regimental command has consolidated in Holds 29. We got them scrambling off and fortified their entry routes. The order right now is to just shoot and hold." These warp creatures are easy cakewalk. They're just animals acting on some basic instinct with no semblance of order. Casualties are surprisingly few with no deaths, yet. The Guardsman had Greg settled down, flanked by his comrades.

"I can't believe they did this to us. I just cleaned the floors." Chris Bastion cursed as he swapped his battery pack for a fresh one from the new company grenadier Pont Alpensohn. The thick innards of the warp spawn spilled and melted into a layer of slippery slime.

"At least we know where the last layer of slime came from now. It's all warp residual!" Boyle Young tossed the Guardsman a las-rifle. "Shoot, Lieutenant Church! They're super susceptible to las-fire and that makes my day!"

"Fuck this. I just want this over with!" Janus Bring prepared a two men operated las cannon mount, and thick bolts of synchronized light were soon burning through the warp spawn as easily as a hot knife cut through butter. The warp spawn slithered and died, only to be followed up by a few puddings that seemed impervious to las fire. In fact, these monstrous jellies seemed to grow on it.

"Ok, I think this is what they call adaptation." Boyle Young sniggered.

"Try the autocannon!" Janus Bring recommended as he clumsily tried to dismantle the heavy las cannon with Boyle's help. The Guardsman took over the reins of the squad operated heavy weapon as his two most trusted Sergeants helped with covering fire and targeting. He mounted a box of ammunition on to Boyle Young's custom feeder mechanism and began to fire explosive rounds into the melding puddings. The shells didn't do much damage, and the multi-bodied jelly retaliated, shooting out a pseudopodium that wrapped itself around the Guardsman's neck, lifting him clear off the ground and dragging him towards it. An eye with an uncanny resemblance to a human one appeared from the jelly. The blinking orb was as big as a man's head. A harsh voice formed in his mind: _You…you slayer of the heretic…shining like the brightest beacon…call to us…come with us…merge with us…_

The Guardsman could hardly breathe. He tried to grab the chainsword, only to have another pseudopodium wrap around his right arm. _Merge with us! Lead us! Give us direction! _He fought against the unnatural strength of the boneless jelly, using his free left arm to claw at the mass. The fingers sunk into a wet and warm interior. The jelly trembled in exhilaration: _Yes! That is it! _The sensation was familiar. The Guardsman felt it within him when he was charging through the mass of cultists to cut down the fleeing psyker. Everything turned red and time slowed down to a crawl. From the corner of his eyes he could see Janus Bring and Boyle Young charging forward in slow motion with bayonets trying to cut him free. The jelly paid no attention to them and the giant eye stared straight and hard. _Listen, please listen to us! _The red mist that shrouded his eyes began to darken, and the Guardsman knew that he would be passing out.

_Why! No! Why do you turn your back on your destiny! Why consort with mortals that hate when we are the ones that will love you most? _The pseudopodia loosened their grip slightly as the jelly apparently realized that it was choking the Guardsman. The pupil of the unnatural eye shrunk to a pinhole. _We…we don't want hostility…just…just listen…please! We don't have the luxury of time! _The Guardsman crumpled to the floor as his two sergeants severed the pseudopodia and dragged him away. With a high pitched thunderous praise for the Emperor, reinforcements from the upper levels came charging down to fight back the invasion of the warp creatures. Soldiers clad in the darkest armor and bearing the Fleur de Lys spewed holy fire on the colloidal behemoth. The massive jelly ignored the Guardsman and raged out against its new aggressors. Hardened and toothed tendrils shot out and flailed without any tactics or aim, knocking one of the soldiers off her feet. The Guardsman only caught a vague glimpse of her elfin face when her helmet rolled off.

The seemingly unharmed soldier rolled back to a crouched position, narrowly dodging another cruelly toothed tendril which impaled one of her companions through the shoulder plate. The wounded soldier let loose a cry of pain and surprise as the former pounced and fired her hand bolter with great skill and precision, severing tendrils with her bolter pistols and causing the stumps to recoil in apparent pain. More heavily armed and armored battle sisters with their meltas and flamers then began to systematically turn the towering mass into a thin layer of charcoal on the floor. Volume and mass ratio had no real meaning in the warp.

XXX

Fifty three men of the 11th regiment died in the battle for Hold 29. Such casualties are regarded as acceptable. From what the Guardsman have heard, other regiments fared worse. There are rumors that an entire hold was depressurized and discarded from the vessel given that it was completely overrun. Given that even the Daughters of the Emperor were called upon to mop up the general mess, the Guardsman wouldn't be surprised that such extreme measures were taken.

Hearsays and rumors began to float around immediately right after the conflict, each one more ridiculous than the rest. Some said that the spawns were in truth infiltrated cultists that hid amongst the guardsmen sent to the undercity of Hive 15 (much to the displeasure of these companies, and the Models of course). Others maintained that the vessel carried dark secret biological experiments gone wrong, and the techpriests were behind it all this while. The craziest swore that the warp transformed ordinary men into spawns and jellies. These were generally scoffed at and were given advices to see the Primate for an exorcism. Regardless, it was important to base one's conclusions from reliable sources. The prima-decas of the 11th, through their sweep down the corridors, reported seeing the jellies and the spawns attacking each other with extreme prejudice and rabid hatred and completely ignoring them. Their interest was more about killing each other than taking over the vessel. Janus commented that it's a warp war that spilled into human turf. Both the spawns and jellies either tried to get the neutrals (humans) on their side, or to remove the general annoyance they've been providing in plenty.

The Guardsman never really found out until much later that the warp materialization was a result of the Navigators losing the Emperor's Path for only a brief few moments, crashing headlong into a conflict between the native denizens. Greg's vox had nothing to do with it. Yes there's a near-insignificant chance that vox waves would somewhat annoy the Navigator, but it wouldn't cause anything near serious as this. No one knew what happened, but the armada was quickly put back on the right path when the Beacon shone right through again in their sights. Once the fleet steered clear from the warp war, the spawns and jellies stopped coming.

Ordos Hereticus and the Sororitas began screening the Guards to ensure that there are no warp entities left hiding amongst their numbers. It was a tiresome process. The 97th Company scored lucky. They were inspected by the Sororitas while the rest were getting filtered by the old cronies and their servitors. Chris Bastion smiled like a moron when an armored maid checked him for both mental and physical irregularities. Boyle Young tried hard not to laugh while being prodded about. Janus Bring personally thought it was the best moment of his life, being touched 'all around' and screamed at by all these 'crazy hot bitches'. Greg was given an exorcism, and fortunately for him he actually came out feeling much better, since it was done by a beautiful woman and not a spindly Primate. The Guardsman was curious whether the Sororitas are aware how the guards thought about this 'screening'. But it's better to deal with hundreds of thousands of idiots than to fight a single warp spawn the size of a two storey building.

"You, Guardsman. You're next. Off with your shirt!" one of the senior battle sisters barked at him. He had the uniform off in no time. For a moment he thought that he might be able to impress them with his bared upper body, but he quickly turned away that self-indulging fantasy. A familiar maid screened him. He remembered her from the fight, the one that was knocked off her feet by a toothed tendril. She had usual shoulder length hair that is dyed to pure black and a Fleur de Lys tattoo on her neck instead of right below the eye. She wasn't too tall, about a meter and sixty at most without her armor. Her features are extremely delicate, and looked as if that a mere bump would mess up that perfection of a face. A roughened hand grabbed his cheeks and turned it around, astounding the Guardsman with the strength she had in her wrists. A crude contraption of bolts and rivets emitted a bright yellow ray that is awfully warm and uncomfortable. This was the instrument that the Sororitas used to give the men burn marks and declare them 'cleansed'.

"You have a scar mark left from the cursed Warp." she has a soft voice that's almost too quiet to be heard. The Guardsman noticed that the contraption was right above his chest and giving him a slight searing already.

"I do?"

"Sister Gracefinn, what do you make of this?" the maid pointed at a mark of the aquila that glowed quietly under the skin. The Guardsman himself was surprised to see that burn mark reappear.

An older and more mature battle sister, probably a squad leader, came over and inspected it. "Those that carry the aquila and great faith with them tend to have burnt imprints on their souls. It's a good thing to have." It somehow made the Guardsman feel proud.

"But it could also be a result of deception. I suggest an exorcism." the young maid was somehow eager to see the Guardsman go through some real pain.

"That could be possible too. But exorcism is a complicated process that is better reserved for those clearly in evident need for it. And there's tens of thousands of them that has to be screened." Gracefinn said coldly.

"I can exorcise him myself if need be, sister." the maid replied.

"Not everyone can perform an exorcism, maid sister Iariss. You should move on to the next. I can finish this subject up for you should you feel the screen is insufficient." the senior battle sister maintained her position. Iariss bowed and inspected the next person in line, the forty year old veteran Reeve Stoic who hardly seemed to care. Stripping and getting fumigated is part and parcel of service on biologically active zones such as Mossberg. The Guardsman received the full attention of sister Gracefinn, and she had him gone through extra protocols of purity and incorruptibility tests just to make sure. Personally, _it just felt like a long annoying shower with ice cold water._

XXX

"Dude, Lieutenant. You have to get out of the poops. You're not the only one with urgency!" Janus Bring hammered at the door. It swung open in a creak, and the Guardsman looked pale faced and miserable.

"What is wrong with you, Church-boy?" Janus Bring was rather surprised. "Hell, you should see the medics or the Primate. Nah, forget about the Primate. He probably make you feel worse." Janus hopped into the cubicle. "Fuck this, Lieutenant! What did you do here? Threw up all your bowels or something?"

The Guardsman could not hear him, though. It's one of those days. He had tried hard not to remember Sarai and their child, but every now and then they would come back to haunt him. It made him sick to the very soul, and he always had to throw something up, and then breakdown for a few hours. He hid this well, though. Janus was the first to see him in this shape. He remembered passing out in the bathroom cubicle after an hour of retching before that violent shaking which heralded the warp invasion. Those messages seared into his mind by the semi-intelligent jelly added to that misery. _We are the ones that love you most._ Who the heck are the 'we' in this? The Guardsman didn't want to think about it. _The Warp gives you emotional extremes and feelings of endless loss for your loved ones._ He tried to regain his composure as he walked down the corridor back to the Holds. When he returned to his company, everyone was staring at him with weird looks on their faces.

"Are you alright, Lieutenant?" Boyle Young was the first to ask.

"Leave me alone, Young. Get back to your duties."

"Well, Lieutenant, its free time now. Do-whatever-we-like time." Greg said. The exorcism gave him severe amnesia of past events as well as subtle behavioral changes. For example, Greg used to pick his nose and ears with an obsessive fetish. He no longer does. He also became awfully forgetful and his language skills depreciated a bit.

"Then go and recite the Primer." the Guardsman walked back into his dilapidated cubicle and climbed into the cot, staring at the low ceiling.

Reeve Stoic came and knocked on the door. "Lieutenant, Grenadier Pont Alpensohn is requesting battery pack change, and there are a few more pieces of papers to sign."

"Bring them in, Stoic." the Guardsman got up slowly and looked at the watch. He can't believe that three hours had already passed. And he was just staring at the ceiling.

"Fifty eight battery packs in exchange for sub-quality ones, perhaps a few grenade launchers. Sergeant Boyle Young wants a full set of tools to tinker around. Greg has to resign from the vox, given that he had forgotten how to operate it. We probably put Chris Bastion on given his experience in stealing vox-waves in the undercity." Stoic gave him a few pieces of nice paper. The Guardsman signed them without care or concern, and pushed them away.

"Lieutenant, if you wish to talk about other things I can entertain you." Stoic added when he saw the all-too-obvious misery in the Guardsman's eyes.

"It's alright, Stoic."

"It's one of those bitches, isn't it. Reminded you of your loved ones?" Stoic was observant and has brains to make accurate conclusions.

"No…I mean…well…" the Guardsman tried to be evasive. But deep down he wanted to talk about it. He wanted to tell other how he and Sarai met, and that little marriage ceremony they had, and all the promises he had broken.

"The Guards is bound to lose loved ones. You should have known that. My wife took another lover while I was bleeding close to death with this hole in my head. I wouldn't blame her, Lieutenant. She managed to leave that swamp known as Mossberg with a rich trader with his fleet of interplanetary merchantmen. Part of me felt happy, but most of me died that day." Stoic said as he rubbed the warm metallic scalp on his forehead. "Why don't you tell me about yours?"

"Sarai…she was just an ordinary girl in the ordinary middle-low."

"How did the two of you meet?"

"Fate or chance? I am not too sure. I was with a gang of children that scavenged trash in the middle low after leaving the undercity proper. We're good at digging through trash given that everything back down there revolved around trash anyway. Sarai went to school and…"

"Wait, you're a trash digger and she's going to school. That's closer to impossible than for a guardsman to beat a space marine with his bare hands."

"I probably impressed her with my reading. The Maniac and Mother Hysteria taught me to read down in the Undercity. Her uncle who works in the dockyards wanted an apprentice, and would pay me to school, provided I work it back. The tests are alright, they said that I already had 4 years of schooling background, and signed me up to the 5th grade in a vocational school."

"And she's probably younger?"

"Yes, that's right. She was in the 3rd grade when I signed up. I graduated at the age of 16 and worked with her uncle for a few months before the recruitment booths opened. I figured I could get better pay and Sarai's uncle was eager to have me make more money to take care of his niece."

"When did you guys get married?"

"That's…the year I joined the Guards, I suppose."

"You're 18 and she's 16, and it was broken not by divorce but the graceful passing of one. Two years of happy marriage for a Guardsman. That's a luxury, Lieutenant. You should be glad." Stoic sighed. "Think of what others don't have, and you probably feel better. That's what I always do. When my wife left me, I was in your shape. Probably worse. I was thinking about killing the adulterous dogs and actually made a plan, and even had the gun ready."

"And then you got promoted?"

"Worse, Lieutenant. I was promoted and given a Honorifica Imperialis. The history of that badge is clean. It felt like a kiloton of weight attached to your nipple, to be honest. I had to forget about my vendetta and concentrate on doing what the Imperium demanded. I led and trained the garrisons at Mossberg with a passion and a good reputation amongst the recruits. But it's all ephemeral. Nothing lasts, Guardsman, except for the Imperium. Knowing that eternity is earned through your works, deeds and faiths in the Guards kept me going. The demotion is not going to stop that."

"Did you ever found out what happened to her?"

"Probably fat and spoilt, with other fat spoilt kids around her." Stoic joked. "But at least she's beautiful in my memories, and gentle in our three months together. Don't be afraid to be emotional about ones lost to you, Lieutenant. It's what makes both of us human. It reminds both of us that we're capable of loving and being loved. Now to be honest, which of those crazy hot bitches do you have an eye for?" The Guardsman was unprepared for Stoic's sudden question. He felt like saying it.

"Come on, now, Lieutenant. I just told you I was being played a cuckold and you wouldn't even tell me about the one you've been fapping to?" Stoic chuckled. The Guardsman looked back and conflict can be seen on his face. "Alright, forget it. I will take the papers and leave you alone."

"Wait, Stoic. It's the maid they call Iariss." It blurted out without thinking. The Guardsman felt like a retard for falling into Stoic's reverse psychology trick.

"Iariss? The young one? Well, Lieutenant, you got an eye for petite elfin features. Beautiful, very beautiful." Stoic gathered up the paperwork and headed out of the cubicle, bowing slightly to avoid the low beam. "We'd try and find you one that looks up to par after getting rid of the xenos and xenophiles on Vermandois. Take care, and remember to stay alive. You can't love when you're dead." _Kill the men and help yourselves to the women, and convert them to the rightful path._


	9. The Maid in the Cloister

Chapter 009

"There. And I am yours, always." the familiar and unscarred face of the Guardsman carried such a sweet smile as he fastened the ring to a pale and thin finger. His body was warm and gentle. The poor ventilations creaked although the filters seemed to be hand-cleaned only yesterday.

"And you're leaving already?" the dream avatar replied with an all too familiar voice. It was a soft gentle voice, but carried a slight weakness in its undertones. The Guardsman took off the aquila necklace and fastened it around her neck.

"Here's something to remember me by. I am sorry I could not give you more." A layer of grime clung to his smooth olive skin. Her fingers brushed the mixture of sweat and dirt away. His skin was hardened by years of toil, yet felt soft to her heart. He was the dearest to her. The only one that would marry the likes of her. The feeling in the avatar's heart was addictive. Compulsions overwhelmed her senses as the avatar leaned forward and kissed the Guardsman fully.

"Take it back, love. You need the aquila more than I do. It's the Guards you are serving, protecting the flocks of the Imperium from the ravages of war. Please be safe. Don't do anything brave or stupid." The dream avatar quickly took off the necklace and returned it. Conflicting emotions battled in the heart as the dream avatar curled herself up against the body of the Guardsman. His hands, callused by laborious work in the dockyards, comforted her with an honest clumsiness that made her feel safe.

"Sarai, remember, both our pasts are buried behind us. It's just you and me against this whole world. I promise I will bring you to the top of the Spire, where we can look down on the entire Hive and forget about filters or breathers, where our children would be freed from wondering where the next meal is coming from, and where I can actually do something about this place…for our people…" His hands began to unfasten the buttons of the dream avatar's shirt, exposing her lithe body that trembled with anticipation. The wild and uncontrolled ecstasies of passion burnt hotter than fire, and the coital euphoria made her body arch as the Guardsman endeared her pale white neck.

Sister Maid Iariss opened her large dark brown eyes, the pupils adjusting the faint candle light that illuminated the sparsely decorated chamber. Her body was drenched in sweat and her scarred knees were pressed hard against her breasts. One of her arms had also snaked down between the legs. Although every sister within the order had gone through the ablation rites to cleanse their bodies from carnal desires, Iariss had found means to sate the dream avatar. She pulled her fingers away from the vile place, thoroughly ashamed and guilt-ridden.

Iariss got off her bed quietly, making sure not to disturb the others. Donning a robe of the Ordos Militant, she made her way through the winding corridors and pairs of fully armed and armored battle sisters that stood at guard. After a near half an hour of walking, she made her way into the Chamber of Lenity where she would kneel before the Simulacrum of Maiden Yngvild and pray for repentance. A patch of dried blood on the floor has yet to be cleaned. Iariss knew that it was her position. For the past week she had visited the Chambers at least five times. The Maid took off the robes and knelt down, her eyes clothed and began the _Lamentations for Repentance_.

"_O Father Emperor, deliver me from the tempter, who lurks at the corner waiting to have me. Deliver me from sin, who ambushes me when I put down my guard. Guide me to thy straight path of sacrifice…" _the recitations went on for a few hours until her knees bled and her thighs trembled with the unbearable strains. Iariss' delicate features were tied up in an agonizing knot, her eyes shut tightly as she tried desperately to purge herself from unclean and demonic desires.

"No, this is not enough!" Iariss stood up, nearly losing her balance. She bit her teeth and regained her composure, walking awkwardly to a statue of an inquisitor where she acquired a scourge complete with twelve barbed tips. She unbuttoned her inner garments and revealed a back already covered in scars. Amidst the calming hymns of praise emanating from the Main Hall where the non-militant sisters sang doxologies, Iariss began the liturgy of pain before the Simulacrum. She gritted her teeth as the barbs tore open old scars and created new wounds, and before long she was on all fours, panting with pain. Her back streamed with blood as her eyes streamed with tears of agony. Her fingernails clawed at the hard stone floor as she tried to no avail to cleanse the image of the Guardsman from her mind.

It would seem that he stood right before her, a most unholy being of temptation bearing the most holy mark of the Emperor. She cannot understand how he could possess the print of the aquila. Worst of all, the devious being has bound her. When giant jelly knocked her to the floor and sent her helmet rolling off with its foul tendrils, the Guardsman looked straight into her eyes. A maelstrom of emotions, memories and fantasies washed over Iariss' soul like a tidal wave, branding it thoroughly with the mark of damnation. And since that day, she would metamorphosize into the dream avatar the moment she retreats to her bed. The avatar named Sarai would allow the Guardsman to approach her and have him be upon her with his coarse hands. Iariss hated the way she loved it. Sarai is a sick individual, soiled and pathetic. And the Guardsman is worse, for he is attracted to a piece detritus beyond salvation.

"_O deliver me from this taint! Cleanse me, Father Emperor, so that I may serve you till the day I pass away…"_ Iariss whimpered. The powerful footsteps of Sister Palatine Gracefinn entered the Chamber of Lenity. Maid Iariss cuddled her nude upper body, her little breasts trembling in the cold.

"Is there something you need confessed, Sister Iariss?" Gracefinn said without any trace of warmth. Iariss was petrified with fear. She knew that she would have to face this question sooner or later. And with the Palatine asking it, she knew she could not turn away.

"No, Sister Palatine…I am afraid of the coming Crusade, afraid of my own ineptitude…I chastised myself for such fears and lack of vigor in battle…" Iariss answered. She was shocked by this answer. It seemed that she had already known how to deal with everybody's suspicions. _It must be the machinations of the dream avatar!_Iariss lowered her head to avoid the hard gaze of the Palatine. But Gracefinn's eyes are trained for war, not for hints of heresy or lies. The tall senior battle sister drew a ladle of holy water from the altar, and took with her a piece of clean linen. She gently poured the icy cold fluids over her raw back, soaking up the blood and pus as though that she's afraid to cause additional pain.

"Maid Iariss, I would have the Sister Hospitallers to look after you. Do not imagine sins that are not there, Maid. We all try to be perfect, and through that we came to know our own imperfections. It is an unending battle against ourselves, but we have to live with it and maintain our faith with each other. I would not have another skilled and faithful bearer of arms choose the path of Repentia." Gracefinn was almost too soft to be a Palatine at this moment. Iariss had known Gracefinn when the latter was only a young battle maiden. Gracefinn had Iariss serve as her arms bearer since the very beginning, although she was barely useful in any battle situation given that her young untrained limbs were hardly strong enough to lift even standard solid slug ballistic weaponry. But within eight years, Maid Iariss was as deadly as any other that Gracefinn had instructed, and her unquestioning faith was without equal. She slew her first heretic at the age of 15, and the kills mounted through the campaigns in Pericles-Gamma and Tylena-Secundus. Other sister prentices began to revere Iariss as their role model. Gracefinn personally requested Canoness Kendra that Iariss be allowed to stay by her side as arms bearer, a request that was granted immediately.

"No, Sister Palatine, your gentleness can only fault my fears more, and I could scarcely take it." Iariss made another lie. She had hardly lied to any sister before, and today she did it twice in a row before the one that had unquestioning confidence in her.

"Don't be hard on yourself, Maid. Not many of us were prepared for such a scale of warp infestation. The beast was powerful and fast, and Sister Imagina is healing well thanks to the good works of the Hospitallers and the grace of our Father Emperor. Do not blame yourself for the wounds or deaths of your fellows. One must be always prepared to lose those that they care for." Gracefinn tried her best to counsel her. Iariss felt guilty to the darkest corner of her soul. The Palatine really bought her lies. She wanted to open her mouth to spill the truth, but her lips stay sealed. Two beautiful sisters of the Hospitallers in their pure white attires came forth and carried her on their shoulders. Gracefinn nodded and had them bring her forth for treatment.

"Sister Palatine!" Iariss managed to call out as she was about to led out the Chamber of Lenity. _I must expose my dark self before it consumes me._

"Yes, Maid Iariss? Is there something else?" Gracefinn tried to say that with a smile. It came out awkward.

"I will not allow you to be harmed, for I am your arms bearer and shield!" Iariss said with the appearance of grim determination. She had lied, three times in a row, to her most beloved Palatine, all for the sake of a pathetic dirt-grubbing Guardsman.

"I know you would, Maid Iariss. I shall pray for your speedy recovery." To add salt on her wounds, Gracefinn still bought it.

XXX

The robes of the Menial smelt musty. Maid Iariss obtained it from a dead, rusting and forgotten body lying silently in the lower labyrinths. She discarded the dead servitor but kept the rodent-chewed attire, donning it when her desires to see the Guardsman became great enough for her to stray. Like her past attempts, the disguised Maid infiltrated a group of techpriests and their acolytes making their rounds. The ancient and senile composites of man and machine did not notice anything amiss, their decaying mouths gibbering non-sense that praise the Machine Spirit without end: _"And thus we relief Thy tensioned strains, and pray for safe passage through Thy arteries of steel…"_

Iariss left the group as it turned around the corner. Having memorized the entire layout of the lower compartments, she made her way through unlit corridors with the stealth of a Terran cat on the prowl. The occasional tiny red glows from the eyes of pipe dwelling rodents flashed past as they scuffled for scraps of food or carcass. Eventually she made her way into a large ventilation shaft that no longer worked, and crawled on all fours until she could hear the guardsmen carrying out their daily routines. The soldiers of the Imperium are being led in the thousands, singing their crude battle hymns in praise of the Eternal God Emperor. She opened a creaky ventilation vent, large enough for her to see the entirety of Hold 29. The drums and trumpets produced a detestable cacophony that only smeared His Holy Name. Coarse and boorish symphonies of noise are the best thing that the guards could offer to the Immortal One on the Throne of Holy Terra. She held her ear to the wall and closed her eyes, searching for that one voice that could float above the background filth into her heart.

"_God Emperor, Bring us Strength_

_As the Call to Battle stirs our souls;_

_God Emperor, Give us Might_

_As we feed death down the heretic's jaws;_

_God Emperor, Grant us Purity_

_As we battle the heart of blackest coal…"_

"It's his voice, it always has been." The mighty drums of battle rattled on as the men were whipped into a fanatic frenzy by Primate Neusonn Marjory. By the Protocols of Spirit in Tactica Imperium, the mental preparation of every single guardsman should be finalized two weeks before planetfall, and the fervor is to be maintained at maximum. In comparison, the Adeptus Astartes and Ordos Militant would normally retreat to their silent meditations in remembrance of the Immortal God Emperor's selfless sacrifice. For the untrained masses that are at best ignorant about their Emperor, such crass methods of loutish screams and non-sense is the most they can muster from what little faith they carried.

"Death! Death to the traitor!" Marjory's voice echoed throughout the hold.

"Long live the Immortal Emperor! We shall strike our enemy down without mercy! Everything with air in its nostrils we shall trample with our boots, sear with our lasfire, rend with our hands and crush with the treads of His Mighty Machines of War!" The guards replied in unison, the pipes creaked as their bloodthirsty shouts reverberated down the ventilation shaft.

"Death to the heretic!"

"No mercy for those that follow false gods and deities! We shall smash their idols of worthless stone and purify their vile temples! We shall bring the light of the Emperor with our fist, bayonet and shell!"

"Death to the alien!"

"For Mankind is the purest form in the universe, delivered by the Hands of the Emperor! We shall destroy those that cannot perceive Faith and Honor! We shall wipe out every trace of their foul culture and base ideals and repopulate their lands with our own!" The ranting went on for nearly half an hour and the guards were finally permitted to get on with their meals. A Private's ration on board consists of grayish semi-solids dispensed from large combi-tanks. Regimental Commanders and some select companies would receive real food such as dried threads of Grox and starch puddings.

While the guards sat down on long mess tables with their canteens and spoons, footsteps came running through the hallway back the way she entered. Iariss held her breath and turned around in the narrow shaft, climbing back to the corridors and slipped into a dark alcove. A pair of guardsmen with cages and hand-made nets ran down the lit hallway after an escaping rodent. One of them leapt forward and slammed the cage over his quarry, gloating about his success.

"See, Janus! That's how this is done. We got fresh meat on stick today!"

"We need way more than that, Young. There's two hundred of us in the Company. I won't even get a sliver."

"Or we can start breeding these guys in the cages. I am tired of you guys eating up every single rat we caught. Be smart! The 25th is smart. They bred hundreds and ensured that every Private gets a meat on stick on a daily basis. Or a pinky to chew on at the very least."

"Well, the 25th also got into trouble, you know. For introducing contaminant vectors."

"Bah. The prima-decas are just jealous we're getting fresh meat while they had to settle with starch pudding and grox jerky." the guardsman named Young looked at the rodent trapped inside the steel cage with an eye of absolute malice.

:"You know I would rather have jelly pudding and grox jerky than meat on a stick. Say you got anymore pie on you?"

"No way. It's top material. Montin from the 27th is offering some souvenirs for the pie. What are you providing?"

"What are you guys doing?" the Guardsman's strong voice echoed down the hall. He was pushing a trolley laden with large tanks containing an odorous mixture of human waste. To ensure cleanliness, he wore a synthetic latex apron and gloves, and covered his face with a mask. Iariss only recognized him from his hazel eyes and voice.

"Lieutenant!" the two soldiers said in unison as they clacked their heels together.

"At ease. Get back to your duties, and if you happen to have free time, at least work on reading and composition. Janus, you should at least learn how to write battle reports. You're a Sergeant now."

"Aye, Lieutenant. But seriously, do you have to do this? You can get one of the privates to clean the septic tanks. This is really gross." the guardsman named Janus said.

"I've signed myself up for duty. An extra stripe on the shoulder does not mean absolute immunity from the necessities of life. You two should sign on as well. If Reeve Stoic could do it, I don't see why you guys can't."

"But I'm catching meat on a stick!" Young protested. "All the time!"

"Correction: you're preventing the spread contaminant vectors. These rodents managed to chew through the food dispenser and even defecated into the rations. Regimental command had the 25th flogged for that. We're cleaning up their mess."

"Whatever suits your taste, Lieutenant. Would a pie buy me off duty today?"

"No. Don't expect to bribe me with stolen goods. I could report you, Young."

"Not stolen goods, strictly, Lieutenant. You know its expired shit that regimental command is discarding. I am just helping them remove some trash while reaping the fruits of my good labor."

"Well, Lieutenant, I am signing up for latrine duty since you did." Janus said with resignation.

"Good. Young, learn from your brother-in-arms. Being smart is not going to help you much if you misapply it."

"If I am smart, you gotta be a genius, Lieutenant." Young tried to bootlick as well. "I never knew firing it up with a bit of tank fuel and dousing it with disinfectants afterwards gets rid of the smell."

"That's the way it's done back in Orres Prime. We're on a vessel. We can't start a fire unless we have clearance. And we don't have clearance. So meat on a stick is technically illegal." the Guardsman reminded.

"We don't need fire to chew on the pinkies." Young said.

"You gotta be insane to eat that, Young." Janus said in disgust. "Those are babies you are chewing on."

"Shut up, Janus. It's rodent litter. And it tastes better than Grox jerky."

"I suppose you can stew them with the powered heaters." the Guardsman gave up on correcting Young's deviant menu.

"You see, you're a genius, Lieutenant! There will be meat soup for everyone." Young chuckled, and continued his job of reducing the level of rodent infestation. Janus saluted and left. The Guardsman pushed the trolley past the alcove, humming an undercity tone. Iariss trailed after him, keeping to the shadows the best she could, wanting to know as much as possible about her tempter.

The Guardsman latched the fifty-liter tanks to the waste chute, and pulled down the depressurization lever to suck away the foul contents. A layer of dried filth still clung to the sides stubbornly, and to the Maid's disgust, the Lieutenant took a long rusty pipe that shot a stream of high pressured hot water and began cleaning the tanks by hand. When all seemed to be in order, he clapped his wet gloves together and concluded with a line from the Primer: "Cleanliness is the first ward against the filth that heretics bring."

Iariss turned up her nose. She can't believe that the Guardsman could do such a repulsive task and still look positively happy about it. The Sororitas have servitors that take care of this. Why won't the guards do the same thing? Maybe it's a reminder to them about their low and menial position amongst the mighty bastions of Mankind. At least the Guardsman knows his place. But Iariss certainly didn't. All of a sudden she was reminded that she's in the wrong place and doing the wrong thing. A sudden jolt in the ship nearly made her jump. The Guardsman didn't seem to feel it. Instead, he stood up, took off his gloves, apron and mask, and looked ashen-faced and terrible to the extreme.

"No, not now…" he whimpered. He immediately ran straight for the poops. Iariss shadowed him and entered the cabin that housed several latrine-cubicles. He had just slammed a cubicle door closed and began retching. The reverberations of the ship became stronger, with the occasional violent shake that made the incandescent lights that hung from the ceiling swing wildly. An oppressive and malevolent presence can be felt in the poops. _Another being of the Warp!_ Iariss began reciting the litany of strength and kept to the shadows. The Guardsman seemed to be oblivious to the presence and continued his vomiting and incessantly annoying sobs.

"No! Why? Why Sarai? I am the one you want? Not her!" he mustered all the strengths he had and bellowed. Maid Iariss was surprised by the sudden inhumanity that can be felt in his voice. She kicked open the cubicle door to find that the Guardsman had passed out. The invisible being that was in the cubicle with the Guardsman manifested itself in full, knocking her off her feet. A supernatural light began to fill the chamber. Maid Iariss could scarcely breathe, and through her weakening eyes she could see the faint outlines of that creature.

"_The Bearer of Ouliam Shi has heed your call, brother! Leave the Materium and return! Leave this pathetic and useless mortal sac! Return, brother! Return to us!" _The voice was hard, powerful and authoritarian. Before Iariss stood a majestic and beautiful being, a mighty Dominion clad in golden scales, each bearing a Holy Word. Powerful golden rays emanated from the visored great helm covered with the most intricate embossments that no techpriest, no matter how skilled, could ever hope to craft. Great sashes of unimaginable color and embroidery flowed as though a gentle warp breeze was blowing across the stagnant air of the poops. The Guardsman's body remained still and unmoving. Frustrated, the Dominion bellowed and smashed the walls aside with its gauntleted hands.

"_You're allowing these weak-willed mortals to rule you? You have turned away Judgment and Justice. But Trust will not have this!" _A massive cudgel appeared in its grip. The visored helm turned towards Iariss and stared hard at her. It raised the weapon to deal the killing strike. Iariss wanted to scream, but she couldn't, every muscle on her body was thoroughly paralyzed. And there was little use in struggling. _There's no escape from the hands of Judgment._ Her pupils exploded as the cudgel came crashing down.

XXX

"Gasp!" Maid Iariss opened her eyes. She found herself back in the narrow ventilation shaft, with a rodent climbing onto her shoulder. She broke its neck and threw the limp body away. Iariss felt her bones, and was somewhat glad that nothing was broken. Her fingers opened the vent. It would appear that thousands of soldiers below were still sloshing down their semi-solid rations. _I must have fallen asleep, somehow, in this dreary place._

Footsteps and the creaky wheels of the trolley could be heard down the corridor. Maid Iariss crawled out of the shaft and hid in the alcove again. It was the guardsman named Young, not the one she held to her selfish desires. Young muttered obscenities and curses as he partook in his detestable labor.

"Lieutenant!" Young suddenly stopped and saluted.

"Good to see you working, Sergeant Young." It's his voice again. Maid Iariss held her breath.

"Screw you, Lieutenant. I signed up only because you did. Not because of Janus!" Young replied. "And thanks a lot for giving away my monopoly over the jumbo-pies!"

"You should be happy, Young. They're calling it Young's Pies now. Platoon sergeants across the entire regiment sing your name in praise."

"Whatever. I could have the pies all to myself."

"You're having them every week. You should be glad regimental command didn't know the entire truth that you've been stealing from their trash."

"It's trash, Lieutenant. It's something they don't want. Is it a trespass if we help ourselves to it?"

"Depends, Sergeant. I spent a while thinking of how to bring it up to your benefit. And it did work out."

"Well, thanks for nothing. I could have been the biggest supplier of triple-A grade foodstuffs and got myself a neat pile of goods the regiment soldiers would trade for. I'd rather have a tonne of shinies than become a ranked officer in the Quartermastery."

"It's for your benefit, Young. You wouldn't want to know what this regiment is up to."

"Tell me, Lieutenant." Young was slightly apprehensive.

"We're the first assaulting wave, Young. Lord Colonel Model ordered all the company Lieutenants in the fourth battalion to get their men mentally ready for 80 casualties. Lieutenant Colonel Henson Model interpreted that as 'oblivious'. I can't lie to my squad mates, Young, or keep them in the dark. I am doing all I can to keep them out of harms way. We already lost Bern Hertz, Mick, Old Man Kilburn, and even Greg to be strict. Just you, me and Janus now. The old guard of the 97th."

Sergeant Young slunk to a corner and tore off his mask. "This is fucking bullshit. I thought we're a decorated company. Decorated companies are treasure to the Guards. We're not disposable crap! Fuck this!" The angry and indignant guardman kicked the wall and pounded it with his fist. "Fuck this bullshit. Now I know why Bern Hertz jumped off the fucking Cathedral. It's because we're the 97th in the 4th battalion, isn't it? What does the cyborg Liutgard say about this?"

"Major Liutgard is petitioning for an armored company, or at least the support of the prima-decas." the Guardsman said. "This is platoon level clearance. That's all I can tell you now."

"Henson is an ass-born fuckhead. He probably would reject it outright. We're all gonna fucking die on some stupid off-world military zone because we're trash in their eyes."

"Don't question regimental command, Sergeant. Plus, you don't have to worry that much since you're technically out of it. The Quartermastery, remember?" the Guardsman patted Young on his shoulder, trying to comfort his fears.

"Fuck you, Lieutenant." Young retorted with frustration and anger. "Who would be your color Sergeant? Stupid Janus can't even hold the flag upright. Chris Bastion can't keep up with your speed. And Stoic is only a private. And now you sent me to the Quartermastery so that you can die without me picking up your pieces."

"Don't worry about me, Sergeant. I am the Church-boy. Nothing's going to happen to the faithful."

"You sure look terrible for a faithful 3 days ago. Must be this retarded latrine duty. Some techpriest acolyte or servitor Menial also seemed to be lost and dazed, wondering around these poops when Stoic and Janus brought you out of there weeping and crying. The Menial sure can run, disappearing around the corner when I called out to it. But getting back to you, what on earth happened in the poops? Janus told me you're coughing out your own innards! And you should have known how the vessels rocked all that time. The power nearly went out on us again."

"Nothing important, Young. Just make sure we get some top quality rations and heavy weapons. We need everything we could get our hands on." the Guardsman seemed optimistic enough. Maid Iariss, however, was on her way back to the Sororitas' quarters, burdened by the facts she learned. _Three days!_ Three days had passed without her knowing it. It's not a matter of falling asleep.

XXX

The Maid's battle sisters were in the process of maintaining the holy tools of the Militant Orders when she arrived at the chambers. Sister Imagina seems to be well healed, and was dismantling her Godwyn-De'az Bolter Rifle, cleaning out minute specks of dust and oiling it. Sister Constance was busy filing her helmet, using reflections from the candle lights to check for other scratches she might have missed.

"Sister Iariss! So glad you're back." Imagina smiled. "By the grace of Father Emperor and your prayers I have healed and shall gladly serve alongside the battle squad once more." Imagina and Constance were both a year younger than Iariss, and looked up to her as their model.

"I am equally pleased that you have recovered, for it was my laxity that allowed you to be hurt." Iariss said without thinking.

"Sister Palatine Gracefinn came around a while ago with a set of new garments for you. You chastised yourself to unconsciousness three days past, and your blood had soaked through the garments. Don't feel sorry for me; it is my own failing that led to this grievous wounding, and it would always serve as a reminder." The battle sister held Iariss' hands, her large expressive eyes welling with tears. It made Iariss feel as though that she was deceit made incarnate. Sister Constance, however, slammed down her helmet and left the chambers.

"What is with Sister Constance? She doesn't seem glad to see me." Iariss was afraid if the dark eyed maiden seen through any of her lies.

"Constance felt most guilty about your self-chastisement. If anyone should feel shameful about this it should be me. Please, sister, stop blaming yourself for my failures." Imagina's tears streamed down her face. Maid Iariss felt terrible. She actually didn't remember how Imagina got wounded in the first place.

"I won't have you hurt again, Sister Imagina." Iariss gently wiped the tears from Imagina's face, looking at the fleur de lys tattoo on her cheek. _Am I living up to mine? I have sunk lower than the most vile heathen._

"Ah, Maid Iariss, you've returned." Sister Gracefinn said. "You've requested to affix the Emperor's Holy Fire to your _Censor_ and refine the feeder for _Purge _last week Here they are, hopefully undamaged. You are to ensure that the blessed crafts of the technomagi work in the upcoming Holy Communions of the Ordos Militant. I would not want you discover that the Machine Spirit has failed you on the battlefield." A pair of heavy bolter pistols engraved with flowery arabesque was given handles first to Maid Iariss. Iariss took her tools and felt their new weight. Both bolters had chains attached so that she could fasten them to forearm plates of her powered carapace armor.

"Thank you, Sister Palatine. I shall not fail you." The pair of guns made Iariss felt safe. They will not ask questions, and would perform her bidding to the letter. With _Censor _and _Purge_ she had laid many heathens and heretics low, their rotten skulls and cankerous hearts smashed by the blessed rounds that they fired.

"Sister Imagina, I would not tolerate future displays of weakness. You are to attend to the Holy Communions as well so that I can make sure you haven't lost anything during your blessed recovery. Your last performance has caused us much grief." Gracefinn's tone was harsh.

Imagine quickly wiped away her tears. "I have recovered, Sister Palatine, and will prove to my sisters that I am capable of worship and war."


	10. Iariss' Watch

Chapter 010

With her decorated Sabbat pattern helmet firmly donned and locked down on to the torso plates, Maid Iariss looked her most formidable. She's now a veritable killing machine armed with two bolter pistols and serve as the standard bearer for her squad. The Sororitas Ordos Militant attaché of the Vermandois Crusade stood at five centuries strong, and was accompanied by a century of space marines hailing from the Ultramarines Chapter. Maid Iariss looked at the armored giants of men, standing as still as the mighty statues of saints that decorated the massive bridge of the main deck. Alongside the best of Humanity were several thousand inquisitorial storm troopers and the ranked naval officers that kept the _Crest of the Emperor _floating in this month long journey through the immaterium.

This mighty procession is headed by the General Militant of the Orres System, the one named Sears Wessex. Clad in a mighty power armor that was even more massive than the Aquila suits donned by the Adeptus Astartes, Wessex looked truly indomitable. Select Lords and Barons that led the best regiments were with him, along with the flat faced but well-respected Lord Commissar Essesohn. Battle Priests and Primates that will consecrate their respective regiments accompanied Lord Inquisitor Horatia March. March is a veteran of hundreds of purges and betrayed nothing of her ancient age. Her smooth jet black hair and her pale white skin formed a stark yet sublime contrast, as did her unnaturally blue eye and the bionic replacement that glowed with an eerie red.

Lord March paced down the deck, inspecting the battle hardened troops. Two maiden songsters, a pure soprano with her contralto counterpart, flanked the Inquisitor and sang doxologies dedicated to those that would inevitably fall fighting for the Immortal Emperor. Lord March didn't need to look left nor right. Her bionics did the job for her. The red beam moved mechanically, scrutinizing every single minute gesture that would have escaped the notice of an unaided eye. Maid Iariss held her breath as the procession marched past her with their crosiers, the Order Simulacrum, texts and relics. Sisters of the Ceremonous sprinkled holy water and Saints' Dust over the battle standards. Iariss knelt as the squad's colors were given the necessary wards against heretics and aliens.

Lord March reached the end of the inspected force and swung around, straighter than a measuring rod. Lord Admiral of the Fleet saluted the Lord Inquisitor. Admiral Eliab Vyn the Elder is robust and rather well-fed, his jowls covered with ugly wrinkles and tufts of beard. If he had any bionics, it would have been the surgical types, for besides the integrated oculars and datalogger attached directly into his cranium, it would seem he had little else. The rotund admiral stood high above in the commodore's view, surrounded by decorated officers, techpriests and their servitor minions, saturating the Admiral with information from every single minute section of the ship. _And hopefully the Holds as well. _

"Praise the God Emperor, from whom all blessings flow, the provider of the Light and Beacon, which guide our path through the Warp." Eliab Vyn cited. "Praise the God Emperor, on whom doth Mankind depend on for our own very survival. Praise the Crusades, that we shall crush the enemies of the Imperium and make them feel the void."

"Praise the Immortal Emperor!" the procession of mighty men and women replied.

"Praise the Golden Throne of Terra. Path of Light, grant us strength so that we keep to thy path. Lead us now into the treacherous system of our wayward brothers!" Eliab Vyn took out his ceremonial whip and cracked it. Techpriests around him swung into careful and deliberate actions, turning dials and flipping switches. The entire vessel trembled and groaned as the thousands of Menials and servitors chained to their posts below deck prepared for warp exit. The ship's Navigator, housed in the pinnacle of the bridge-tower, sent his visions down through the cephalon-linked impulse tubing to be interpreted by the Master Engineseer that oversaw the Warp Drives. Again the superstructure shook as the Engineseer filtered out the chaff that interfered with the necessary information. The background howl that accompanied them throughout the month-long journey died down as dark blue ethers that surrounded the Holy Fleet swirled and morphed into impossibly intricate spirals. The battleships _Saint Gladstone_ and _Esteemed Mark_ along with their numerous escort vessels disappeared one by one as they exited the warp. Before anyone could say _Hail Emperor_, the blue ethers had disappeared, and the familiar glint of a billion stars greeted them once more from the blackness of space.

General Militant of Orres, Sears Wessex, was granted permission from both the Admiralty and the Lord Inquisitor to address the regiments. He turned on his vox and relayed the first military order of the Vermandois Crusade: "Regiments of Orres, by the Will of the Emperor, leave no sacred soil to the traitor and alien! Let the Crusade begin!"

XXX

Maid Iariss stood at the commodore's deck where the most skilful warriors of the Imperium were required to guard _and oversee_ the heart of naval command. A dozen servitors, their scalps covered with crude tubes and bionics, provided a pseudo-composite three dimensional display of the military exchange. An insane volume of visual data was being fed from the countless pict-captures in place throughout the battleship, causing some servitors to go into uncontrolled shaking. These are symptoms of 'data euphoria'. It not only blurred the images at times but also messed up with the entire holographic display every five minutes or so. Iariss wasn't trained as a tactician, but the lopsided slaughter was obvious enough. The Imperium Navy unleashed multiple staggered broadsides against an orbital platform complex of alien design of several inverted pagodas with multiple tiers. The platform desperately launched light attack crafts of every size in retaliation, maneuvering around the streams of rapid firing las cannons like annoying insects. Whatever cruiser-class vessels the aliens had built to guard their conquest had already maneuvered into warp space to escape certain demise.

"Lean hard on port. Have the gunneries on the starboard side perform their duty!" Eliab Vyn thundered through the vox. The decks creaked with the gargantuan strains as the steering drives were kicked into action. Hundreds of consecrated servitors pulled and pushed the ten-meter-wide wheel laid on its side, silent in their laborious task. The guns made a final broadside-in-unison before the barrels locked down and depressurized for cooling and removal of barrel debris. It was the Maid's first time seeing the Emperor's fury completely unleashed, vaster than anything on planet surface. She felt elation in the cleansing plasma fires that scorched through the shielding and onto the smooth hull below, twisting and bending it beyond recognition. The trembles that reverberated with each firing had sent shivers of ecstasy up her spine. _Justice and Judgment on the traitor. _She could see the gaping holes on the orbital stations and imagined the twisted and cold bodies of the xenos floating amongst the debris. Just as the Maid was caught in her admiration for the Emperor's Justice, a series of violent jolts shook the ship as the limited enemy retaliation hit home. A squadron of alien attack craft flew right across the bridge, half of it already ablaze. The dense flak arrays tore three of them to threads. Two others spun out of control and crashed into the hull below, not even making scratch on the impenetrable armor.

A Mage whispered some ill tidings to the Admiral's ears. "Get all the menials, and perhaps a few penal regiments to get on to it. Just get the steering drive working! I do not want to use the consecrated guns unless absolutely necessary."

"Aye, your Highness." the cyborg Mage bowed and left. The Maid realized that the ship is caught quite still in an awkward position, with the fore directly facing the heavily damaged orbital station. Sister Imagina and Sister Constance seemed oblivious to the sounds of battle, concentrating instead on the serene beauty of Hugh Alpha that stood in stark contrast to the carnage that went on above her orbits.

"We will be going down there." Imagina whispered.

"To reclaim every piece of sacred soil that the aliens and traitors have defiled." Maid Iariss reminded. _Saint Gladstone _and her escorts appeared out of the warp at this very moment despite exiting first. It's another of those warp anomalies that confused the Maid thoroughly, and had her thanking the Emperor again for guiding his flock. Admiral Canid Zeelander of _Saint Gladstone_, however, was not as squeamish with her main guns. Three giant bolts of plasma globes hurtled towards the stricken target, overwhelming the shielding and smashing into the hull proper. The orbital keeled and buckled as the inner stabilizers failed. Escape pods and ships had begun to evacuate the dying hulk.

"Blast!" the Maid could hear the Admiral curse. "The damn boy Zeelander got the kill. Conveniently arriving late as well." Eliab Vyn was nearly knocked off his feet again when the steering drive came back online, and most of the people on deck actually did.

"Praise the Emperor. The servomechanics have answered our prayers to the Machine Spirit. May Graphite and Lubriques flow through thy majestic piston and valve!" one of the techpriests threw his arms in the air as he started his non-sensical praise to the Machine Spirit.

"Well, finish up the job! Get on with it!" Eliab Vyn seemed to be unhappy that _Saint Gladstone _had clenched the prey. "Have Rear Admiral Yules Pine and his _Esteemed Mark_ to get around to the south polar geo-stationary orbital defenses. Either blast it to bits or send it burning in the atmosphere."

"Lord Vyn, Duke Pine had already removed the enemy at point gamma and is now petitioning for planetfall protocol clearance." the section commander of long range vox reported.

"Sounds like everyone is getting ahead of the old man. Very well, initiate drop-off, and have the fleet proceed to drop sites and hold orbit. Clearance for bombardment support level two. Smash anything that you think that can have a heavy gun in it." Eliab Vyn said with a casual manner that made Iariss stare with indignation. This fool treats the Crusade as though it's a playground. Nevertheless, Eliab Vyn is a decorated and experienced soldier, established as an authority enough to lead the Holy Fleet and ship a Crusade of a hundred million men. Sears Wessex who had stood quietly at the side observing the naval conduct of operations was given a vox cast by the Admiral. The Holy Fleet and the Guards don't mix. Not too well, at least.

"Blessed Regiments of the First Corps, unleash thy fury! Let the traitors know that we have no mercy for them!" Sears bellowed into the vox.

_He will be down there first._ Iariss looked at the massive dropships being jettisoned from the fleet by the dozen. These vessels, filled to the brim with guardsmen and their equipments, carefully angled their approach in the precarious reentry. Planetary defenses did their best to keep the Crusaders at bay as the transports closed with their targets. A few dropships broke apart as the cumulative strains from the gravitational pull and retaliatory fire crushed their hulls. Iariss felt her heart skip as the unfortunate vessels spilled their contents into the atmosphere and descended in a slow spiral. The Holy Fleet, however, did not stand idol. _Crest of the Emperor _unleashed a torrent of blistering fire that streamed between the landing ships and muted the defenders' guns.

"The 73rd and 64th regiments are lost." the scans-pex officer observed. Iariss breathed a sigh of relief and felt the tensions disappear from her muscles.

"We have penal regiments to spare, don't we?" Eliab Vyn asked. "The dropships must have cost more than those sorry souls."

"Indeed." Sears Wessex replied. "Very much more."

XXX

After two months of planetary warfare, the Ordos Militant attaché made planetfall with their holy ark _Concremarus_. Battle reports had not been completely optimistic. The massive planetary holograph with its colored icons of guardsmen regiments, army groups and theaters showed the situation in an abstract graphical way. Sears Wessex sparred without pause with the Brigadiers and Generals on the best course of action. Imperial guardsmen, whittled down to 70 fighting capacity, were held at bay at a narrow isthmus. Beyond it was a large peninsular continent complete with three mega-city complexes that the xenos have built. The dazzling regimental designations and symbols used by the Guards confused Iariss. The only thing she could conclude is that the First Crusade is stuck at a vicious stalemate, and something more is needed to pierce the line. The proud General Militant succumbed instantly before Horatia March's fiery personality as the inquisitor demanded intervention.

The battle sisters, fully armed and helmeted, sat still with their bolters upright as _Conremarus_ shook and jolted with atmospheric turbulence. The Adeptus Astartes had already made their drops. The genetically and surgically engineered super-soldiers descended upon the most vicious fronts, inserting themselves directly into the thickest of the battles in armored pods. And even then they could not break through the Isthmus.

After a seemingly endless descent the ark finally slowed down and made contact with the captured space port, scarcely large enough to hold the vessel. A piercing ray of light reached every precipice of the cabin as the massive loading bays opened. Several elite storm trooper companies stood at attention outside, bearing the regimental colors of Orres 4th, 5th and 9th. The Sisters made their disembarkation, their footsteps synchronized perfectly as though they are one.

"Lord Inquisitor Horatia March, head of the Ordos Militant attaché and the Holy Judgment of the Emperor's Fury! Hail! Hail! Hail!" the elite guardsmen thundered after their Colonel as the five hundred strong force of battle sisters marched out of _Concremarus_, followed by a smaller army of servitors that dragged gigantic crates loaded with supplies. Maid Iariss observed the unnaturally lush green hills that surrounded the mesa-city and the sapphire-blue skies that seemed almost too perfect. _So this is Hugh Alpha. _Iariss ignored the dozens of bodies dangling from the gallows. The crude inquisitions launched against the collaborators and adherents to xeno-philosophy should have claimed more. Native buzzards flocked around the damned, gorging themselves on their dangling innards and soft, decaying flesh. Banners extolling the Immortal Emperor flew from every single high precipice that could be found.

"Has Faith in the Immortal Emperor dwindled to such pathetic levels that you still could not breach the defense of the heathens?" Lord March's bionic eye glared bright red as she castigated the guardsmen. "Where is the Commissarriat?"

A battle-worn colonel, his uniform partially charred and his head bandaged to cover a grievous wound, came to receive the militant branch of the inquisition with his command team. "The most sincere apologies to the esteemed lord inquisitor."

"It is the Holy Text itself that is brought before you. On your knees, guardsmen!" March made the word 'guardsmen' carry the connotations of 'filth'. The two maiden songsters that accompanied her brought forth a large leather bound book, held open by chains to the very page that introduced the Great Crusades. All the storm troopers were conditioned to obey inquisitorial command, and did so promptly.

"Even a minute measure of the faith that your glorious ancestors carried in their bosoms ten millennia ago would have been enough to overwhelm this entire planet. The whole eight million of you not only have failed in your duty, you have lived to see yourselves as truly miserable failures. You arrogant beasts of men!" March did not seem to be impressed at all. The guardsmen remained still. None of them made any move or voiced any protest. To do so would be suicide. "What is your tale, commander?"

The colonel looked up, his eyes wild with emotions. Whether it is fear or shame the Maid could not tell. _Those two things are basically one._"We have done all we could. The cities require a garrison, the locals require resettlement, and there is a constant threat of armed insurrec…"

March's bionic glare dimmed as she drew out her rapier from the colonel's mouth which welled up instantly with blood. No man stirred as the colonel collapsed to the floor, the dying muscles twitching. The other two regimental colonels began to tremble under the silent wrath of the Inquisitor. "'All we could' can only mean to the very last man. 70 fighting capacity is not 'all you could'. A Crusader does not ask how many enemies there are, or how well they're armed. A Crusader only asks how many heathens he can slay till he falls to the ground a holy martyr. You there!" March pointed her bloodied rapier to a color sergeant that bore the regimental aquila. "On your feet and show your face."

The color sergeant took off his helmet to reveal a rather young face, complete with a gash that is held together with crude stitches and thick black string. March scrutinized the sergeant carefully. Iariss knew that the Lord Inquisitor was a trained and sanctioned psyker. Her mental probing smashed aside whatever minute defense the sergeant had, causing him to lose control of his facial muscles and opened his jaw as in a stupor.

"Very well, Sergeant Surtbury. You are hereby promoted to the rank of Divisional Brigadier with immediate effect. Your duty is to lead these men to redemption and death, and that includes yourself." March said coldly as a songster presented March with a piece of linen and some holy water to cleanse her dirtied blade. "Are the men of these regiments mute as well?"

"Hail Lord Inquisitor Horatia March! Hail Lord Brigadier Surtbury!" the men roared.

"In the Name of the Emperor, have the city purged. We have no further need of garrison." Lord March gave her first command. The newly made brigadier Surtbury was aghast as March's decision, and the storm troopers looked at each other in confusion and surprise. "There are three regiments in this city. Are you telling me that a city of twenty thousand heathens is more than a match for you? Or do I have to look for another replacement Colonel?"

Surtbury was goaded into immediate action. "Regiments atten---TION!" The storm troopers rose to their feet. "Purge protocol clearance granted! Adhere the Imperium Tactica! Adhere the Primer! Adhere to your superiors' will! Obedience without Questioning! Faith without Fail! Let these heathens serve in death as they would have never done in life!" Iariss believed there was a hint of genuine sadness in Surtbury's tone.

The Ordos Militant accompanied the regiments as they evacuated the marked city. Any useful material, food, water, machine tools, fuel and vehicles were requisitioned from the populace. A great many of them believed that the guardsmen were leaving for the frontlines against their alien overseers, their eyes were unable to hide the traitorous excitement and intent. Few, however, were sad to see the guardsmen leave, and most of these were young orphans or girls that probably sold services to the men. Some of the older citizens, however, were smart enough to find out. Colonel Surtbury's subordinates removed these quickly before they could raise a ruckus. Within two days of ruthless pillaging, the elite mechanized regiments rolled out with their Chimeras, Basilisk self-propelled artillery, Leman Russ tanks and the attached supply convoys of Trojans and trucks laden with looted goods. Maid Iariss saw a young lady with her daughter standing at a street corner sobbing. _A passing fascination for the locals. Nothing more._ She hardened her resolve and marched on with the color of her battle squad aloft above her shoulders.

Brigadier Surtbury's face betrayed his inner conflicts as he looked through the powered auspex. From the vantage point on the surrounding hills he could see the locals dancing on the streets and adolescent youths shooting crude guns into the air. He waved his hand in disappointment and the Basilisks answered his indignation with united thunder. The city, built on a chalky white mesa, was turned to a grand conflagration as the hammer of the Emperor unleashed lethal 'heart-stopper' gas by the kiloliters into the city and followed the fumes with extended-burning promethium jars. _Concremarus_ also partook in the Holy Purge,turning columns of the fleeing into plasma ash before it left to join the Holy Fleet in orbit. All the roads were fortified with sufficient guardsmen to easily mow down any that tried to breach the cordon. As the fires died down, the storm troopers assaulted the ruins once more to literally flatten whatever that still stood, killing all survivors that they came across in this process. One of the young adolescent locals blasphemed the Emperor to such an extent that Sister Constance gave way to anger and shot the girl with her bolter. The crumpled body was unceremoniously picked up by a guardsman and dumped into the back of a truck. Maid Iariss could not help thinking about the dream avatar. The one he calls Sarai.

"Brigadier, have the cityscape on memory tapes. Broadcast these images throughout all the occupied territories. Any that resist imperial law or the passage of her men should do well to heed this. Let this stricken layer of ash be a lesson for them all." Lord March didn't even bother to look at the large burning pits filled with the charred bodies. The divisional commander bowed and left, and saw to that her request is done. March sprinkled some Saint's Dust ceremoniously over the consecrated memorial that marked where the city once stood. Iariss, a witness to the purge, turned her gaze away from the mass graves. This was only a fraction of what she had seen, but the machinations of the dream avatar had softened her heart. She could not seem to forget the one he called Sarai, the sobbing woman with her baby or the ash-covered blasphemer driven insane by the absolute destruction Lord March had unleashed upon her world.

Surtbury looked as though he just went through an exorcism. The best soldiers of Orres trained in the military complex of Hive 4 against the most vicious enemies of the Imperium had slaughtered tens of thousands of innocents. Correction: those that Lord March deemed too costly to keep around. Iariss knew the basic logic behind the inquisition's choice. _Dead people don't need guards, food, shelter or water. Dead people don't revolt. Most importantly, dead people serve as great warning to those that are still alive. These people are too useful to them dead._ The Maid would expect all the other garrisons to be freed from their duties. The presence of the Ordos Militant on the surface of Hugh Alpha is enough to make the locals know that the Imperium is without mercy. The Crusades would accept nothing besides an unconditional surrender to the Emperor's Grace. With the purging of one city, Lord March guaranteed the Isthmus Theater a reinforcement of one and three quarters million men.

XXX

"Maid, you don't look too good." Imagina observed. Most of the battle sisters had taken off their helmets for a breath of fresh air. And this undoubtedly exposed Iariss to scrutiny from her squad mates.

"I am fine, sister Imagina. I feel that the Father Emperor's watching over us this very instant, blessing us with courage and victory to come." Iariss tried to put up an air of confidence and strength.

"Squad, be prepared to move out." Palatine Gracefinn gave the orders to break camp. Over three hundred regiments were poised to reinforce the battle at the Isthmus. Numerous soldiers, dazed from shell shock and trauma, were led from the frontlines stuffed on requisitioned vehicles. Wounded casualties from the Isthmus were sent to Summer's Vale, a small outpost where the Hospitallers would put their skills in nursing the soldiers back to health.

A single bugle call was sounded for the call to advance. This lone solo was joined by hundreds of others. Soon, the entire valley was resounding with the riot and clamor of trumpets, drums and bloodthirsty calls to battle. The very ground itself trembled as the tank columns rolled out, belching partially burnt fuel and tar particles as they spearheaded the guards' synchronized advances. Field constructed giant artillery pieces were towed by dozens of trucks, accompanied by detachments of servitors and techpriests that chanted unending hymns to the Machine Spirit and the Law of Ballistics. Alongside the guardsmen and inquisitorial troops were tens of thousands of new adherents that flocked to Lord March's banner. _The worst scumbags became prophet literally overnight._ Iariss secretly hated these opportunistic lowlives. If they were as faithful as they professed, they would have already given their lives to fight the xenos way before the Crusaders arrive.

_Time to shake the dreams away, to grind the memories to dust and die knowing my duty is done._ Iariss braced herself as the massive army approached Uriah's Line at the Isthmus, named after the infamous Duke Uriah Minc. The sheer scale of the Line made Iariss gasp at the ingenuity of the 'ill-trained mobs' that composed the Imperial Guards. Several batteries of super heavy guns were already erected, complete with glowing plasma generators, smoking chimneys, propellant gas expulsion shafts and cranes that hoist impossibly huge shells into the massive barrels. A company-sized crew was required to keep one of these guns firing, excluding the techpriests and servitor menials that swarmed around the guns providing reassuring touches and ritual grease to calm the anger of the Machine God. A single Guardsman may be one of the most mediocre fighters in the galaxy, but when put in their tens of thousands, or millions in this case, they become a force of creation. Their callused hands, roughened shoulders and stout legs would build the mightiest bastion of walls complete with turrets and pillboxes of all sizes and moats that would trap an entire Baneblade tank. They could pave the greatest runways for their massive bombers, the sturdiest roads for their heaviest tanks and even build spaceports with which to receive their supplies. Even magnificent cathedral basilicas are well within their repertoire. One was already standing strong in face of the enemy's frustration.

Nearly two million men in Uriah's Line sharpened their bayonets and primed their rifle sights as the hour of reckoning draws nearer. Crews oiled tank pistons and cleared out every grit and pebble from the treads. The battle priests and primates with their massive chainswords and vox-cast nailed directly onto their throats marched around the legions of praying men, amplifying their unending praises to the God Emperor. Entire regiments stood stone-still as their superiors and the Commissariat extolled the worthy for their uncompromising adherence to the Imperial Code. Iariss looked around at the sea of men and their fluttering banners. The 97th company of Orres 11th was at the forefront on the easternmost wall. The battered flag of the feminine angel and babe was badly faded, but decorative sashes injected new life into it. _It's his company. He's still alive._

Lord Inquisitor Horatia March was greeted with full honors. The entirety of the theater command in battle garb stood at attention. March wasn't as unforgiving as she previously when they first made planetfall. Duke General Uriah Minc never gave a moment of lax in his duties. While the Inquisition marched up and down the occupied territories, whipping up the disgruntled garrisons into her entourage of zealous Crusaders, Uriah Minc managed to launch more offensives than statistically possible and made sure that at least thirty thousand xenos were slain. All in the course of thirty days. But the Maid wasn't impressed. _It could have been him that died._ She quickly chased the selfish thought away. It's far better for the fool to die. The sinful fascination would soon be over. She could feel the imprinting fade and her soul being cleansed by the flames of battle once more.

"Lord Inquisitor March, Uriah Minc humbly puts himself at your service." Uriah knelt to one knee and spoke with a rather foreign accent. Horatia March extended her gloved hand for the Duke General placed his forehead against it. Uriah had lost the ability to kiss. His jaw was smashed in some battle. In place of his mouth he had a composite bionic of vox-cast and rebreather attached directly onto his lower face and integrated with the powered carapace that he wore. No one knew how he eats anything. Despite his disturbing appearance, Uriah was also a sturdy giant of a man, even more impressive than Sears Wessex. The list of campaigns that he had led was engraved onto his pauldron, along with the affixed seals of purity and medallions of conquest. A rare pelt with an intact head of a ferocious mammalian carnivore completed the picture of an Imperium warlord. _So this is Uriah Minc, the Victor of Mossberg and Gantin Campus._

"Another two million at your command, Uriah, or mine?" Horatia March questioned.

"Uriah would do as the Inquisition demands." Uriah humbly bowed. Iariss is already finding his habit of referring to himself by the third person rather annoying.

"The Inquisition demands that you to win."

"With another two million, it is only a matter of time."

"Twenty days." Horatia set a deadline. Uriah would either breach the gates or offer his own head up on a platter.

"Uriah be bold, and he requests thirty."

"Twenty days." The inquisition never compromises. Lord March's hand is already on the hilt of the rapier.

"Uriah acque…acq…acquiesces to the ever justice demands of the Inquisition." Apparently gothic was never Uriah's native tongue, and the last line came out as a hesitant jumble of bad grammar and high speech.

Having dealt with Theater Command, Lord March gave orders for every single battle sister squad to familiarize themselves with the terrain. The Ordos Militant would serve in the easternmost wall with the guards for this night. Headquarters of the inquisitorial troops would be established in the mighty cathedral, which Horatia March consecrated with the name _Iariss' Watch._ The choice of name was not particularly surprising, given that Iariss was one of the most common names throughout the Eastern Fringe, especially after the beatification of Virgin Iariss of Hughnault. But it made Iariss felt special nonetheless. Tonight it would be her Watch.

XXX

The night was never calm. The guards launched up to a hundred night sorties every day. The enemy layered defense lines in the horizon lit up with explosions and the sky became alive with beams or bursts of bright blue plasma globes. Iariss stood guard at a fortified strongpoint in the Forward East as the guards around her slumbered, curling themselves up into every nook and crevice along the trench. Decaying heads of the flat-faced xenos stuck on poles decorated the Isthmus Line, a vain attempt to goad the enemy into an offense. However, this foe knows the very value of discipline. Through her Auspex she could see the dim outlines of the enemy city against the amplified background light caused by the explosions.

Between the Isthmus line and the enemy defenses is a vast No-Man's-Land littered with innumerable dead. For every xenos that Uriah has claimed to kill, he had to throw in twelve guardsmen. Burnt wrecks of chimeras, tanks, walkers and assault guns stretched for as far as she could see. Some even had the charred bodies of guardsmen sticking out of the hatches, frozen in the moment of their fiery death. Iariss' mind began to wander off, thinking about the parents, children and friends of these Orresians. She quickly jolted into action, reminding herself that theirs was but to do or die.

"Change shift! Janus, take your platoon down for rest. Young, you're up!" the Guardsman was only a short distance away behind her, relaying orders through his vox to the platoons. Iariss drew a sudden breath and froze. His eyes had seen too much, but yet they glimmered with some strange optimism. The Guardsman was personally giving blankets to the company soldiers, some of whom started whimpering pathetically for this display of concern.

"Major Maine!" the familiar clacking together of heels as he saluted a senior officer.

"Not bad, Church. I thought they'd have your company wiped out by now. Not bad at all. You know the Inquisition is here, don't you, with another 2 million men."

"Yes, sir."

"You can bring your men to the rear echelon. Three months of continuous fighting is more than enough for you guys."

"Is that regimental order?"

"Yes, Church. You know, regimental command is really happy with Liutgard's performance. None of the fourth battalion companies were lost. Well, not perfectly happy. Henson bought the prize. The inquisitor found him guilty of intimacy with locals. They executed his local mistress and had him flogged before the prima-decas. You should have been there to see that. A moment of my fucking life! I wished I was the one flogging him." the Major chuckled.

"What of Lord Louis?"

"Well, he wasn't there for the Inquisition to get him. You know that fiery bitch-queen skewered Baron Brigadier Munter Hans of the…wait, Ok, there's one of them here. I will tell you about it later." Maine lowered his voice to a whisper and patted the lieutenant on his shoulder. The Guardsman saluted and went on caring for his men. Maine, however, walked to Maid Iariss and paced around her, his bionics looking up and down like a predator sizing up his game. "I wonder how you guys piss." Standard Orresian undercity accent that is almost unintelligible to High Gothic.

"Out of my sight, worm." Iariss jammed the barrel of _Purge_ up Maine's nose before he could continue his insults. Maine's mouth was open as if in shock, but he licked his dry lips and left coolly, betraying little if no fear at all. "Pathetic lowlife." The battle sister sheathed her bolt pistol. She should have killed him, but that might attract the attention of the Guardsman, and she didn't want him any closer. Iariss recited a short litany of repentance and continued her watch. Iariss' Watch.


	11. Death and Ruin

Chapter 011

The Guardsman saw several thousand xenos bearing all sorts of wounds and evidence of physical abuse being interned in the real area, shackled in chains and covered in pathetic rags. Under the supervision of the storm troopers, the xenos were herded out like cattle. Some of them muttered a few alien lines, and received the hard end of a boot in response.

"Parlay?" Boyle Young's uniform dangled with a few decorations awarded for outstanding quartermastery. He was curious about the fates of the xenos. "Uriah is exchanging prisoners?"

"They forced the surrender of about 5 regiments in the Vale Pocket. That's about twenty-three thousand men. The xenos are willing to exchange three thousands of their own for twenty-three of ours."

"Well, what did they say? We have to throw in twelve bodies to make it even? Sounds like a deal for them."

"I don't know, Young." The Guardsman looked at a disabled xeno being carried by a younger one. Not all of them are alike. Like humans, they have specialized in their various fields and crafts. Unlike humans, however, their specializations led to clear phenotypic differences. The merchants and diplomats had some sort of eloquence and grace, refined delicate features and an aura of trust. The laborers and builders were stocky and inquisitive by nature. The warriors were the most heavy-set, though much more agile than the builders and their musculature moved like corded rope beneath the blue-gray skin. They have their own philosophies, and are evidently master architects with the elegant design of their cities. Most of the fighting human population on Hugh Alpha was mysteriously gone. All that the Guardsman saw during this months-long combat tour were cities, towns and villages filled with the old, the women and the children. _The men were probably shipped off as slave labor to their colony worlds._

"You should at least have some opinion, Lieutenant." Young said as he tightened the straps of his helmet. "All this 'I don't know this', 'I don't know that' is not going to give you any promotion. I got promoted to Regimental Quartermaster after the Lord Inquisitor cleansed the acts. You should learn how to recognize opportunities."

"I just wonder how the exchange will develop. Maybe the xenos would surrender the planet and withdraw their forces back to treaty borders." the Guardsman was ever hopeful.

"Probably. They give up territory faster than Greg eats pies." Young joked. "You've been asking for them non-stop."

"Don't joke about Greg, Young. Don't you even feel sorry for him?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. But it could have been worse. He could have been dead or become some vegetable man. At least Greg still knows how to take showers, dumps, pisses, eat, sleep and shoot. He probably still knows how to screw some hot bitches." Young tried to console his ex-superior. "His personality did change a lot. He used to be smarter, for example. And he used to also pick his nose when we're talking. Now he just falls asleep a lot, but he did it before anyway." The xenos were marched across the wall and across the trenches. From the rear echelon fortifications that guarded the mighty guns, the Guardsman with his crude auspex could see the white rags that the xeno warriors bore. They are escorting tens of thousands of guardsmen as well. _They treat prisoners better than we do_. The Guardsman didn't like that observation. The two large armies met in the middle of the field and began reciting parley terms.

"Penal companies at the fore-front?" Young noticed the standards of the 66th to 86th regiments in the forward trenches. "Who's down in the camo-trenches? It used to be you guys alright, but who swapped the 97th out exactly?"

"This is really, really low." the Guardsman realized what Uriah is planning. The ground trembled as the batteries of Orressian Catapults fired five tonne shells into the air. Smaller tremors were sent from the tens of thousands of guns that rained death and destruction on the exposed lot in the middle of No-Man's-Land. Xenos and guardsmen captives alike became wracked with panic. The penal regiments in the forward trenches mowed any that tried to run for Uriah's Line down with overlapping crossfire. Five tonne shells carrying a thousand kilos of consecrated high explosives churned the cauldron of boiling flesh and mud. Duke General Uriah Minc never meant to talk or discuss exchange. It's another of his trick to goad the enemy into action. A few thousand human captives were smart enough to run in the other direction. Only a few hundred made it through the withering ballistics.

"Wow." Young said with an air of bemused wonder at the combined power of the Catapults. "If they don't get mad at this, they probably have some emotional deficiency."

"Or that they could control their own warriors to such a great extent that lies beyond our comprehension."

"Or maybe that they're too scared to come out." Chris Bastion entered the tactical command bunker with the massive vox on his back. "Regimental command, Sir Lieutenant."

"Bastion, knock before you come in." Young wasn't too happy with this intrusion. "There are two ranking superiors in the tactical command."

"Sorry, Young. I set the rules here. Nothing is more urgent than a vox-relayed message." the Guardsman reminded his Sergeant and picked up the vox. "97th company of Orres 11th. Right. Sure. Praise the Emperor." The vox was returned to the company vox-caster. "Alright, Young, just turn over the supplies and rations and I will have the quartermastery papers signed. Bastion, get Janus and the others rested to prime conditions. Orbital surveillance is telling us that the xenos got really mad. Mad enough to start mustering an offense."

"Aye sir!" Chris Bastion moved out quickly.

"Lieutenant, is there anything else you need?"

"Not really, Young. You got everything we need here."

"Just ask if you're desperate for some quality stuff." Boyle Young said. "The quartermastery will provide the best for the decorated companies and regiments. Honestly, though I'm pretty worried about the xeno-fury if they had any."

"We have a line of storm troopers and Ordos Militant backed up by the Adeptus Astartes, thirty thousand large caliber guns, three trench systems, a massive wall, an underground labyrinthe, fourteen multi-runway air bases and a space port. And a massive Cathedral to boot. Let the xenos bring their fury in waves. They will never breach this rock." the Guardsman said reassuringly, largely for his own fears.

XXX

Uriah's Line held out against four days of round-the-clock barrages. When the xenos believed they had caused enough damage, their mid-ranged artillery rolled forth, spewing streams of high powered plasma bolts. The Orresian Catapults retaliated with great fury, smashing aside entire brigades of xenos with great ease. But after a day of consecutive firing, the discontented Machine Spirit let lose a mighty roar as one of the mighty Catapults exploded from overuse, consuming the entire company sized crew that manned it. Techpriests in their maddened frenzy offered blood sacrifice with their Menials in a desperate bid to assuage their God. Once the Catapults were forced to observe a moment of peace, the xenos surged forward once more. Concentrated aerial bombardment of Uriah's Line commenced as the xenos launched fleets of elegant atmospheric attack crafts. The air battle was a sight to behold. Thousands of attack crafts sparred each other at sonic speeds, but eventually the Guards' reliable Lightnings and Thunderbolts came over the top with sturdier hulls, doctrine of attack formations and fearlessness.

Failing to claim air superiority, the xenos were expected to give up on ground assault. Yet the thirst for vengeance force urged their warriors on. This time they utilized multiple rocket launches affixed to their mobile skimmers. The turrets of the guardsmen were outranged and outgunned as their artillery battle suits, under the cover of intense smoke and holographs, hit home with their rail gun mounts. Large anti-armor artillery pieces managed to counter them in a vicious stalemate of hardware duel. Still Uriah Minc made no move to unleash the armored columns, or the millions of guardsmen basically drooling with battle-lust. The penal regiments have to be ground to dust before that happens. And under the watch of the Ordos Militant and storm troopers, even the lowest scum bags of Orres became an overnight hero as he battled the highly equipped alien without giving way.

"Uh oh, Lieutenant. Vox." Chris Bastion again barged into the command bunker without knocking on the door. The Guardsman put down his heavy binoculars and took the receiver.

"Boy, I really don't expect to see you still alive and kicking." Essesohn's familiar voice came from the other end.

"Lord Commissar Essesohn." the Guardsman stood up straight as though the flat faced Commissar stood before him. "By the Emperor's Grace I am humbly at your service."

"The xenos are projected to breach point 11. Get the 97th up and ready."

"Reinforcement protocols?"

"No, boy. Offensive. All out offense. You'll ride the tanks. Five days. Essesohn out." the Guardsman could scarcely contain his excitement. The 97th will roll out on treads.

"Bastion, we're riding tanks! Get the men prepped! Recite the Primers and pray for our victory. Five days to the reckoning!"

"Hail the 97th! Hail the Virgin and Child!" Bastion recited the Company battelcry and marched out. Pont Alpensohn, the company grenadier, was granted clearance to access battalion grade weaponry, and the Guardsman's connections with the quartermastery had kept the men in high spirits with higher grade rations, cleaner water and washed linens. Pont knew a lot about guns, but certainly not as much as Bern Hertz, Boyle Young or Michelin Joy. Pont was silent, and even gloomy to be honest. He doesn't talk about anything besides business.

"Church-boy!" Liutgard's voice boomed and echoed in the reinforced small arms arsenal. "So glad to see you here. The guards' choir requires your attendance at once."

"At once, Major Liutgard. Offensive outfitting has to be finalized."

"The Grenadier will take care of that, Lieutenant." Liutgard grinned and showed his metallic teeth, now glistening with gold. Gold is valuable where it is rare. On Orres it is just more expensive than lives. "Iariss' Watch. You should come immediately. That is an order, I believe."

"Yes, sir!" the name Iariss hit the Guardsman somewhere on his nerve. The delicate elfin features surfaced from the ocean of memory. He never paid much attention to that massive cathedral complex the guardsmen had built right in the middle of Uriah's line. But it's named after her. _And it's a beautiful name._ Pont Alpensohn didn't seem to mind. He continued checking the massive paperwork to sate the insatiable bureaucracy that oversees the Imperial Guards as if he's been working alone all this while. The Guardsman realized that Pont is a loner of sorts, and just tolerated his presence because of his superior rank.

XXX

The 4th battalion Major and Lieutenant rode a requisitioned convoy vehicle across batteries of guns manned by teams of guardsmen that worked without pause. They only stopped firing when the Techpriests came around to soothe the moans and groans of the Machine Spirit. Some barrels were removed and new ones were screwed into the firing chambers as the Emperor's hammer hit back at the enemy artillery. Trajectory data of incoming enemy fire were fed into the minds of servitors from hidden spotters spread throughout No-Man's-Land, allowing the guards to predict the location of enemy batteries. Not that it's any useful. The Guards had the advantage of range, while the enemy clearly had superior mobility and could always scoot after unleashing their payload. Parts of smashed guns and pieces of men were carted off in trucks as new guns and crew were towed to replace them in the easternmost wall. Most of the artillery men had stripped themselves down to the waist, their bodies covered with propellant soot and hardened by heat waves.

"Attritional warfare, huh." the Guardsman said when they arrived at the relatively quieter supply dumps that's surrounded by cross-firing flak platforms. To be safe, the Guards never kept artillery propellant and shell close to the guns in case the enemy predicted their trajectory. And they did, proving themselves to be extremely efficient at that as well. The xenos only never managed to cause a major explosion due to the Guards' precautionary measures.

"There's only a quarter of a million xeno warriors on this planet. Sure they got some flashy toys. We have big guns to smash them with. And we are legion." Liutgard reminded the Guardsman of their other advantages.

"The Catapults are back in action?"

"No. If they were we wouldn't be standing here by now. We would be over there." Liutgard pointed across the field. "Enough useless talk. It's the singing I'm concerned about. Remember it's the Inquisition's hold at Iariss' Watch. Don't mess around too much."

"Yes sir."

"Is there something you want said, Lieutenant? You have a look of conflict about you."

"Stoic…"

"His promotion I believe. You would risk irking the Old Model? Forget it, Lieutenant. Old man's son just lost his future. Stoic's better off as a private…or dead. And don't do anything stupid. Lord Commissar Essesohn was rather impressed by your achievements so far. I wouldn't do anything to mess it up if I were you." Liutgard decided to teach the Guardsman a few more tricks to climb the Imperial ladder.

"But…" _It is not fair. Stoic was the one that bore the colors when the color sergeant fell. He saved Janus Bring from the infiltrator ambush, and myself from sniper drones. He was the one that kept the company alive._

"Well, Guardsman, think of it this way. Stoic would have been executed for gross insubordination. If the Inquisition was there he would be burning on a pile of sticks. Henson could easily make the case. Essesohn's getting soft, I'd say. My own personal take on this is that Essesohn probably want Stoic to keep an eye out for you."

"What? Why?"

"You think the Commissars eat stones and iron? No, Lieutenant. They're men like us. Just because they came from the Schola Progenium doesn't mean that they've ceased to become human. But then again, I've been reading too much romances and novels. My superior cultural education gave me a somewhat pinkish flowery hue over everything." Liutgard flexed his bionic fingers with which he played the harpsichord with and put on an air of aristocratic aura that he had grown up with before he became enamored with the military.

"Then what about Henson?"

"You know what, Church-boy? Don't ever let your dick think for your brains." Liutgard joked. "Henson bought the prize fair and square. You didn't fall in love with any of the locals, right? That's good. I can see it in your face. You're a Puritanic Beast that's bordering on extinction. No wonder Essesohn likes you."

"I beg your pardon, Major."

"Ah! We're here already. Just keep your throat moist and sing well, its just like the rehearsals. I don't want a crow in my choir." the Major switched the topic as quick as a flash as they approached the massive gilded doors of Iariss' Watch. "We're broadcasting this to the entire theater. Duke General Uriah Minc wants something that would boost the men. Every single one of them."

Iariss' Watch is truly magnificent. Uriah's regiments spared no effort to please the Ecclesiarchy, and without compromising the war as well. On the basis of morale, Cathedral had put millions of men in ease. With the symbol of the Imperium Cult looking out for them, nothing could possibly go wrong. Immense statues of saints clad in every style of clothing, military garb or armor and holding various symbols of the Imperium from the bolter to the holy text stood watching to the East, at the last strongholds of the xenos on this planet.

The gilded interior was a splendorous display of the Imperium's vast wealth. The Cathedral housed the foremost representatives of the Imperium – the Ecclesiarchy and the Inquisition. The high seat was reserved for the one that Maine called 'fiery bitch-queen'. The Guardsman had never seen her before. The chair remained empty as the various musically inclined guardsmen filed in, donning robes of purity. Liutgard handed the Guardsman one of those white robes with a blood red border and pointed to an antechamber.

In the cleansing atrium, the Guards washed his hands, face, head and feet before donning the scented and ancient attire. When he came out, the choir was already in position with Liutgard at the harpsichord. Planetary theater grade vox-casts were set up as Liutgard turned around and gave him a sour look for taking too much time. The Guardsman quickly took his place as the lead soloist while the audience chamber was being filled. Representatives of the theater command including Duke General Uriah Minc, a few members of the Adeptus Astartes and Ordos Sororitas and even select regimental commanders arrived and sat down heavily. The Commissariat was absent. They had to be out there with their attached companies and regiments.

"Matriarch of the Vermandois Crusade, Patron and Mother Superior of Hugh Alpha! Our Lord Inquisitor Horatia March!" the Guardsman dictated from a piece of yellow paper. The congregation stood up as the most powerful individual on the planet and perhaps the entire system made her way to her seat, accompanied by her maiden songsters.

"The alien had been goaded into action, thanks to the action of Uriah Minc. You have seven more days, just as a reminder." Horatia March's ravishing beauty stared down on the congregation. The Guardsman could not believe she's two centuries old. "Does the duke have any comment?"

"Uriah's promises are more important than his life." Uriah replied from the audience.

"Then let's begin." Horatia March sat back on her chair and closed her eyes. Liutgard played ancient Terran cantatas while the choir sung in tongues long forgotten and only known to the Ordo Dialogous and other specialists. The ancient songs were broadcasted throughout the millions of men who knelt in every single clean place they could find, kissing their aquila necklaces or similar icons that represent the Divine Right of the Immortal Emperor. Lord March hardly stirred as the Guardsman sang on. The two songsters on her either side, however, had a dying urge to join in. The Lord Inquisitor raised her hand when she sensed their pure intentions, and the two girls came down to the tenor's side, coupling his tone with a harmonic combination.

March's unnaturally blue eyes opened as the cantata ended. "It is over. Return to your posts and continue with the Crusades. Honor the Hour of the Emperor, and He will bless you beyond measure." She gave neither praise nor criticism.

"Praise the Eternal Emperor!" the congregation replied as the inquisitor left in an instant. The songsters left the Guardsman's sides and rejoined their master as the choir members proceeded to change back into their military garbs.

Liutgard ambushed the Guardsman just as he was coming out from the antechamber. "Does passion stir within your Puritan heart, Church-boy? If I were younger, I could have never kept my composure with those two standing besides me."

"Who? What?"

"Stop playing dumb. The inquisitor's own songsters came down to join your singing. You had your eyes closed all that while. But you must have smelled them. Oh, praise the Emperor that such beauty doth exist. It brings a tear to my eye." Liutgard got poetic and seemed to recall the romances he had been through when he was much younger. "Were you ever in love, Church? Probably multiple times, I believe. It's an addiction that would lead us astray, and yet when purest it is the most powerful catalyst of faith."

"Yes, Major. I was."

"What happened? She left you once you joined the Guards?" Liutgard sniffed. "It's almost too common."

"No, Major. She died when I was in the Guards. With our child."

"Oh." Liutgard paused. The two stood silently in the great hall of the cathedral.

"I had been lying, Major. About her." the Guardsman felt that he had to let some dreadful secret out. The lies he kept pent up in his bosom would cause emotional breakdown every ten days or so. Janus, Stoic, Chris and Boyle all knew about it. And Pont probably does as well. He just doesn't care.

"I understand, Lieutenant. Love hurts. Loss hurts. Truth hurts the most. Even these bionics can't prevent me from delving into past memories. Despite my earlier comments about letting the dick think for the brains, it does make one feel more human than just a meat robot. Love…well, its basically letting your dick take charge for an extended period of time. The reason why it causes serious damage."

"Did yours leave you for some others?"

"No. She left her husband for me. It was easy, Church. I am gifted. I am strong. I am young. I am perfect and I am ambitious. And then I dumped her for the trash I thought she was. And she killed herself with our child. It didn't feel like anything but good riddance at first, Church. Until you realized that women are the most vicious creatures that walk the earth. Worse than the xenos, heretics or heathens. She had poisoned me without me knowing it, caused my body to rot away. I destroyed my fortunes to keep myself alive. New teeth with which to eat food, and even taste simulators as my tongue died inside my mouth. This voice you're hearing is not real. It's an integrated vox-cast in my throat. I regret everything I did, Church. Do you?"

"No."

"You don't even regret lying? Must be something big. Very well, then. I shall not dig further."

"You know where to look for Essesohn?"

"You don't want to find him, Church, especially since you're most likely to ask about Stoic." Liutgard wanted to make sure that the Guardsman wouldn't get into trouble and started talking about military matters. "Get back to offensive outfitting. Duke General Uriah Minc's head is in our hands. If we fail, we would probably see the inquisitor snip his head off. Wait, I take that back. We would probably be deader than Uriah would be if we fail."

"Another question I have kept for a bit."

"If it's not about Stoic it is fair game."

"What is a tenor, precisely?" Liutgard stared at the Guardsman with disbelief in his eyes, and left. The Guardsman knew he had asked something that touched the Major personally in a very bad way.

XXX

"Hold on, ye foot plodders!" the Chimera captain shouted above the engine roar. "This is going to be a hell of a ride! And don't just pray for the Emperor. Pray for the Machine Spirit of this blessed device!"

"Aye!" the command platoon of the 97th replied in unison. The Guardsman and his vox-caster were given the best position, complete with powered periscopes with which to penetrate through some of the denser smoke and soot that shrouded the entire battlefield. Tens of thousands of guardsmen milled around them, marching to the beat of the drum and shrill of the bugle, to the fluttering of their colors and the goading of their superiors and commissars.

"Hail the Orresian Crusaders!" the men sang out loud as they stomped their feet towards the front. Uriah's reckoning had come. The xenos had wasted themselves against the impenetrable labor of the Guards. No one beast the guards in digging or building, and of dealing death from impossible distances. The Catapults' thunderous reports resonated throughout the battlefield, echoing with the heartbeat of the guardsmen's courageous hearts.

"Hail the Inquisition!

Death! Death! Death to the Aliens!

Ruin! Ruin! Ruin to the Heathens!

With shell, bullet and beam we shall purge!

Onward! Onward we will surge!

An unstoppable tide!

The Guards Unite!"

Chris the vox-box carrier gave the Guardsman the receiver. "Hey, Lieutenant. You should look outside a bit." Boyle's voice was loud and clear. The Guardsman turned his periscope around and saw a trio of massive super-heavy assault tanks. Baneblades, modeled after the prints of Mars itself, the legendary world of forges. Boyle Young was sitting on the main turret and waving at the Chimera as the crewmen clambered upwards and pulled him down.

"Ok, that wasn't too smart. I am not pure enough to touch their blessed machine it seems." Young chuckled. "No one respects the quartermastery. This is what you got me into."

"Major Young, at least you could even get close enough to the Baneblade to touch it. I can't even approach the cordon."

"You have a point there. Best wishes, Lieutenant. I figured out how to make meat pies from scratch now. Good ol' rodent meat. I will make a few if you guys come back. And look after Greg. He likes my pies most."

"I will, Young." The Guardsman returned the receiver. The Chimera engines spluttered and coughed as the tank surged forward on the paved roadways within the Line. Deep reverberations were heard as sections of the wall gave away, falling on top of the trenches to act as the driveways and bridges for the armored columns. Screams and shouts extolling the Immortal Emperor resounded through the trenches as Uriah made his gambit.

"Counter-charge! Death and Ruin!" the storm troopers morale soared. The mechanized infantry siting inside the Chimera clenched their las rifles and grenade launchers as the tank went beyond the trenches, crushing bodies and wrecks beneath the treads and shaking them violently. The Chimera captain seemed to be in an ecstasy of sorts. Plasma bolts began to hit the frontal armor as the gunner unleashed stream of laser bolts, screaming like a maniac.

"Foot plodders, we're in the thick of it. Shoot at everything you can!" the captain bellowed. The men sprung into action, opening firing ports and emptied batteries at the enemy warriors that were caught in a state of confusion as the infantry-fighting-vehicles blitzed them in an unprecedented shock. Pont Alpensohn quietly replaced the depleted power cartridges with fully-charged ones as the tank continued to bounce around.

"Fucking bullshit. The Baneblades are supposed to be out. We got a rail-gun mount ahead. Get out of here before you're all toast!" the Chimera captain disengaged the loading door as the guards streamed out of the stalled vehicle. They're right in the middle of No-Man'-Land, a crater filled with bits and pieces of wreckage and body parts. The entire air was alive with las beams and plasma pulses. Artillery barrages blew xenos and men apart without mercy or discrimination. Most of the 97th made it. Stoic, the unofficial standard bearer, unfurled the colors and let it fly in the wind.

"Lieutenant, we'd do well to hold. Use the vehicle as a cover." Reeve Stoic suggested. The Guardsman had relied heavily on his advices throughout the course of the campaign. The veteran knew his battles and wars. "A hundred men is all we have, and I do believe we're somewhere out of the line."

"What?" the Guardsman looked around. The Chimera Captain in his enthusiasm had carried them about a hundred meters too far out. The skilled foe immediately recognized this odd company bulging out of this main defense lines and descended upon them with fury. Xeno warriors fired in teams, ignoring their casualties completely. Uriah's betrayal must be avenged.

"I'm hit!" a guardsman gurgled as he clenched his flak armor and his cauterized wound. Xenos blinked out from their holographic camouflage and attacked them from an unguarded vector with their short range plasma bursts. Pont Alpensohn managed to hit one of them with his las pistol before the other guardsmen shielded him. The Guardsman activated his chainsword and caught a slight distortion of light. He immediately ducked as a plasma bolt glanced his shoulders flak piece. The guards started shooting wildly and swinging their combat knives or swords without any sense of where the enemy is. Many were cut down by the long range plasma pulses unleashed by xeno riflemen at a good distance away.

"Lieutenant! We should get back to the vehicle!" one of the guards shouted. "We're been massacred here!" Before he could finish the line, a rail gun mount had managed hit true, consuming the Chimera in an explosion that caused the turret to fly a few meters up in the air before landing on the soft mud.

"Too late for that!" the Guardsman's retorted coldly. The black smoke belching from the remains of the vehicle did prove useful. Holographic camouflages do not work that well in dense particulate smoke and wafts of unnatural bulges became recipients of concentrated las fire. The guardsmen managed to kill a few of the infiltrators and forced the rest to seek better cover. One of them, however crept behind the Lieutenant and leapt, drawing its blade. The familiar sound of quality steel had the Guardsman swung around with his chainsword, hitting the xenos in mid-air, chewing through the carapace and into its abdomen.

"Gue'la zan'vo vuy'ren…Aun yon'layis sinatla…" the xenos dying words made no sense. The only thing he knew was Gue'la. They called the humans Gue'la. They made it sound guttural, insulting and rough. The Guardsman ended the xenos life immediately by shooting it in its head oculars point blank.

"Don't try to outshoot them! We can't! Let them come within grenade and plasma range!" the Guardsman ordered. The xenos weren't intent to expose their own weaknesses either. They just continued to pin the guardsmen down.

"Shas'ui Yan'Fey Kos!" the xenos cheered as their veteran warrior appeared on the field. Its jump-packs were already heavily damaged, limiting its mobility to walking or running. One of the arms had already been blasted apart. But the rotary plasma cannon and flamer gun affixed to the other were formidable enough to guarantee mayhem in the Guardsman's unsupported section. The most unnerving appearance was the counter-marks of tank silhouettes that the warrior had painted on his chest carapace. It's a specialist killer donned in an aesthetically pleasing armor.

"Fuck! I thought we got him last month!" Chris Bastion cursed as he tossed the vox-receiver again. "Janus. Bad news it seems."

"Lieutenant! We're broken!" Janus sound desperate. "I tried to make a charge to make contact with your section. They threw us back!"

"Stay put, Janus! How's Greg!"

"Greg fell asleep on the gun again! The men want him lynched after the battle! If there's any of us alive after that!"

"Tell Greg that Church-boy needs him to haul an autocannon over! We've got an enemy suit here!"

"You're totally fucked, Church-boy. We've got incoming again! Bring out!" The guards could only dish out ineffective damage at the battle suit that kept their heads low in indignation with its power rotary cannon as it lopped across the field, dodging grenades and plasma bolts with relative ease. Once it gets within range, the flamer would break the guards and the warriors could pick them off with ease.

"Here comes Greg!" Stoic sighted a giant hauling an autocannon on all fours, trying to avoid the dense enemy fire. A shell exploded near him, causing him to abandon the autocannon and make a run for the crater. The relatively unharmed Greg slid down the crater side and smiled stupidly as the other men stared. No heavy weapon, but another heavy man.

"I'm going to fucking lynch this moron!" one of the men shouted. "Where's my fucking gun!" Greg tried to climb out of the crater to retrieve the package he was supposed to deliver, but the Guardsman held him by his shoulder. Greg looked at the Guardsman rather confused.

"Stoic, you come with me. Chris, keep Greg by the vox. He still likes to play with it."

"No Lieutenant! This is suicidal! The company would be gone without you!" Stoic said.

"I don't care. Give the colors to Bendy. This section is gone without the autocannon!" the Guardsman was already out of the crater on all fours. Stoic cursed but did as he was told, and crawled after his Lieutenant, keeping his head as low as he could to the littered ground. One of the soldiers made another gambit. He strapped grenades to himself and made a charge for that lumbering beast. He was cut down before he could even run ten paces. The suit looked as if it's laughing at the impending doom of its prey before unleashing another triple burst at the guardsmen. Las beams could only make small dents on the ceramic composite armor plating. And even grenades were ineffective. The enemy Shas'ui made use of its handicapped jump capability to leap right into the crater to unleash globs of liquid fire. The section morale was broken, and men ran for desperate cover.

The xeno warriors unleashed their own battlecry: "Tau'va Yon'tu Sha'is! Tau'va Vis'Khaiyon!" and charged by the ladder, shooting down the fleeing men like grass. The battle suit leapt out of the crater to crush individual soldiers as it fancies. Just as it was about to fire upon Greg who's piggy-backing the badly burnt Chris Bastion on his stout legs, an autocannon round smashed its visual inputs in the head. A second round smashed the arm. The neutered suit could only careen and topple over.

"ULLA! The Scourge of Orres!" Nigel Maine's 1st company with its multi-tailed scorpion banner surged forward as the enemy champion collapsed. Repeater hellguns and rifles blasted away mercilessly at the xenos, forcing them to give way before the guards' elites. The Guardsman was only about a meter away from the abandoned autocannon. He also realized that Greg didn't bring any ammo for it.

"What? Church! You're still alive!" Nigel Maine threw himself down besides the Guardsman and stared into the familiar face. "I thought you're always with your men. Did Stoic goad you to make a run for it?"

"Lieutenant Colonel Maine." Stoic said, noting the new chevron on Nigel's shoulder plate. "We're after the autocannon."

"Well, your gun doesn't have rounds. You're lucky we brought ours." Maine said as the prima-decas of Orres 11th carried out doctrinal advance against the xenos. "And the baneblades managed to start their engines in time. The xenos are being thrown back. Marauders are in flight and would be covering our advance." The report of battlecannons thundered throughout the plains. The Guardsman could imagine the mighty battle tanks and the supporting Leman Russ blitzing through the confused xenos, their battle suits shot to pieces by the armor piercing bolter rounds.

"Don't be stupid and keep lying on your belly, Church. Follow doctrinal advance." Stoic held down the Guardsman. "I know it's an impressive sight. Four million subjects of the Eternal Emperor charging forward for death and glory. But keep your heads down."

"Listen to the ex-Major, Church." Maine agreed. "And you probably could get promoted as well."


	12. The Traitor

Chapter 012

The banner of the 97th still has Bendy's charred arm stuck to it. The Guardsman didn't take it off. Bendy's a company hero and his relic will live on forever. _For Sarai and her Child!_ The chainsword in his grip sputtered and screamed as he cleaved aside the broken xeno warriors. In their thousands they tried to fall back to their defense lines. But Uriah's heavy hitting has scored true. The hammer landed right on the enemy's blue-gray face and smashed any organization they had to the ground. Armored columns blitzed right through the xenos and drove right up to their walls. Mighty Baneblades and Leman Russ battle-tanks blew apart the suits and skimmers as the flimsy and overly sophisticated devices they are. Pockets of surrounded xenos were systematically wiped out. There were only a few hundred prisoners. Most fought to their death. Following the general sweep across No-Man's-Land, hundreds of Trojans dragged the artillery right up to the middle of the field. The Emperor does not rest when roused to Wrath, and neither should the Guards.

While the storm troopers held the line, the vast majority of the guards had begun the work of digging, building and tunneling, shifting the front forward by forty kilometers in three days of non-stop fighting. Guardsmen casualties numbered a hundred thousand and counting. Xenos lost twenty thousand, their elite soldiers were slaughtered and their fury turned into regret. They made no attempt to countercharge the Guards. The combined might of numbers and fanaticism could easily top organizational efficiency, a warrior culture and sophistication of weaponry. The only thing that kept the guards at bay was the overlapping defensive fire and stationary rail gun mounts with unfathomable accuracy and precision.

"Hail the Maul! It is granted to us!" the guards cried. "Hail the Maul!" The Guardsman clambered upon the burnt wreckage of a xeno skimmer tank to look at the very immensity of the siege howitzer. It's the item under Iariss' custody. The entire cathedral was built to house the massive dungeon foundries where the techpriests, servitor slaves and menials would construct the brutal weapon, and bring it to bear once it is complete. _Uriah would never build anything just to please the Ecclesiarchy. _The remains of tanks, guns and even martyrs were fed into great field foundries to add even more bulk to the Maul and immortality to the martyrs that sacrificed their lives to the Crusade. It is said that Lord Horatia March consecrated the weapon herself by giving a whole pint of her blood. The loading chamber was embellished with imageries of ancient saints and great battles of this crusade. March knew how to pamper the guards. She made them feel important, immortal and invincible. The Guards was given a place by the Emperor's side, with their tanks, las rifle and bayonet. "The Maul of the Immortal Guards! The faithful bastion that serve only the Immortal Emperor!"

Tens of thousands of locals bore massive chains upon their raw and bleeding shoulders to haul the great beast of steel. Many guardsmen threw away their rifles to join this horde. Those that lay stricken on stretchers would get down on their knees or belly as the Consecrated Device rolled across the plain. Another army of believers marched before it, clearing up the debris and filling up craters and trenches to pave way for the Holy Device. Even the Commissariat took off their peaked caps and knelt with their regiments, companies and platoons. The Ordo Sororitas was right beside the trudging horde in their pure white robes that covered their powered armor suits, marching as though they're one with heads bowed in penitence. No one faltered. No one required goading. The opportunity to sacrifice oneself to the Imperium of Man was reward enough. Along with these religious fanatics were warmachines that looked more at home in the dungeon of the warped. Walkers sturdier than the Sentinel scouts remained silent and unmoving as if in meditation, tugged by servitors and menials bearing the inquisitorial badge. The Maul's destination was being prepared by a dozen specialist regiments and their techpriest overseers. A base of multi-layered concrete and steel would absorb the massive recoil of the siege cannon. High grade plasma generators would provide power to the winch as well as the gigantic rotator which would aim the Maul.

"For the Emperor! For the Emperor we purge this unholy stain!" hundreds of thousands of locals howled as the Ecclesiarchy battle priests led them in fervent chants. Dead xenos borne on crude crucifixes were being hauled by the faithful. Some weren't quite dead yet, and struggled futilely against the cruel nails that pinned their bodies to the pole. Hundred of stakes and crude wooden wheels were being brought to the front by these new adherents of the Crusade, their eyes wild with fury and hate. Old men, women and children alike chanted for death and ruin to the xenos that once ruled them. The xeno warriors, both male and perhaps female, held their heads aloft, quietly awaiting their final moments.

"You know what this means, right, Church?" Stoic felt the charred and bony hands of Bendy.

"We will smash through the gates with this Siege Gun."

"Not the gun, Lieutenant." Stoic shook his head and pointed at the locals tying the xenos to the stakes and hoisting the sharpened pole upright. They then dragged the victim down slowly with ropes. It howled with pain as the stake drove through its body. The howling stopped as the sharpened end emerged from its mouth, its limbs dangling in midair. Maniacal cheers of the guards and locals alike echoed at the sight. "I am talking about this."

"This is madness." the Guardsman tried not to look and clambered off the wreckage.

"No. You must look and observe, Church. This is the Imperium." Stoic grabbed the Guardsman's arm. "Don't hide from the truth. We exist to serve the Emperor. The only reason for our lives. And anything that the Inquisition command we will bow and follow. Thinking otherwise is heresy. Adore this imagery, Church, and you'll be a great general one day."

"Sheer madness." the Guardsman tried to shake Stoic's hands away, but realized that he has a very powerful grip.

"Just watch, Lieutenant. I want to know how much you've learnt so far."

"By Holy Terra, is this even necessary? So what if we harden their resolves? I thought Uriah's betrayal already did that. Why bother with this? Give them a good clean death and be done with it!" the Guardsman could scarcely contain his disgust.

"No, Church. Look at who's executing them. Not us. Not the guards. Not the Inquisition. Not the Astartes. And not the Battle Sisters either. But the locals with almost unseen inquisitorial supervision." Stoic pointed out the critical observation. Some of the locals have tied the xenos to the wheels and used hammers to crush their limbs. The wheel was then hoisted up to mid-air by a massive rod. Very soon, the forward trenches were decorated with raw exemplifications of xeno-hatred as hundreds of dying victims were raised to mid-air. The soldiers and locals cheered and sang. Their hearts are full of righteous fury and mirth in their prowess.

"_Ta'lisser! Ui'bin sha'o Ta'lisser! Ui'bin yon'vau'un Ta'lisser!"_for reasons unexplained, the Guardsman could feel the emotions emanating from the other side. It was faint and weak, but it rose above the din of the crusaders. It's the cries of anguish from the witnessing xenos.

The mournful dirge from the xenos was joined by thousands more._"Ta'lisser! Gue'la shas'kauyova! Gue'la vuy'ren! Gue'la vuy'ren! Gue'la khas vuy'ren! Gue'la khas pan'tokha! PAN'TOKHA! PAN'TOKHA! TA'LISSER YON'LAYIS SINATLI PAN'TOKHA!"_The word Pan'tokha hammered into his mind. Traitor! The Guardsman quickly grabbed his auspex and observed the activity on the enemy walls and lines. Numerous fire warriors have taken off their helmets and seemed to be howling in pain as their kin were being executed in the old ways of Man. Many drew their short blades and severed their hair braids, tossing it down the wall in bitterness.

"What's wrong, Church? Fazed out again? Our esteemed lord mater March ordered this for a good reason. There's still a few hundred millions of our kind in the cities beyond the isthmus, and at least 30 billion in this star cluster. She's tricking them to carry out preemptive actions against our enslaved people. It helps to get more on our side. We will have unlimited manpower and the xeno stain would be purged." Stoic shook the Guardsman's arm and explained the reason behind the 'madness'.

It did not seem to distract the Guardsman at all. Some xeno warriors went clearly overboard. Some stripped their armor off to reveal corded musculature and smooth skin that bore a distinct scar right across both pectorals. To this scar they opened a new gashing wound above it, purplish-red blood streaming down their chests. The rest knelt in unison to pay respect to their dead and dying.

"_Aun! Aun! Aun niya'nay mo'khan dos! Ta'lisser yon'layis sinatla! SINATLA! SINATLA! SINATLA!" _the aliens started chanting, hammering their fists onto the wall with the word Sinatla. Vengeance. The xenos want vengeance. Probably not by assaulting the guards. It would be suicide. They want to start with those in their custody. The guardsmen that they captured or the unarmed human slaves they kept in their hundreds of millions. It would only play into Lord March's hands.

"Gue'vera! Helpers!" a calm soothing voice of a female voice seemed to echo across the plains. It was powerful and saturated with an air of superiority. It was an accented high gothic. The speaker knew the human tongue.

"The warriors have stopped chanting." the Guardsman noted.

"What? I couldn't even make out the lyrics of the Cadian Battlehymn that the soldiers are singing and you could hear the aliens from their walls a few kilometers away? You should get some sleep, Church. You haven't slept for three days." Stoic patted his young superior.

"I swear I had heard them. And there's a leader within their group. She's trying to address us."

"Stop imagining things, Church. Go back to sleep. If the inquisition hears you, they'd probably screen you again at the least. And exorcise you for xeno-possession." But before Stoic could finish his words, a powerful united shout came from the ranks of the xenos. It shook the wreckage that the Guardsman was standing on. "AUN! AUN Siu'Zan Uy'Sina'un!"

"They got pretty powerful vox-cast alright." Stoic tried to rub the pain from his ears.

"Gue'vera! Helpers! Tell your Ethereal why! Why did you do this?" the Guardsman knew he was not imagining things. The powerful voice, presumably female from the auditory qualities, made the entire plain tremble. The fanatics were caught mute and silent. Some dropped their cruel scourges that they used to lacerate many of the xenos to death.

"Why have you gone silent, ye flock of so little faith!" Lord March immediately countered it with her own declaration. "Listen not to the alien, for it only leads you to ruin! Worship your Emperor! The Immortal One on the Throne of Terra! We will purge this foul stain upon the holy soil with the Maul!"

"Lord Horatia March! Your name was already known to us! Your crude encryptions are pathetic and worthless. We know everything you have planned. Retreat now while you still can. Bring the traitors with you, for we shall give them no quarter. The Tau'va does not tolerate the betrayer of Trust!"

"Cease your pathetic musings, alien! I shall feed your corpse to the Emperor's Holy Fire." Horatia March is immune to intimidations. The Guardsman with his auspex finally found the Lord Inquisitor. She was right next to the Maul attended by her songsters. The thousand-tonne howitzer held a splendorous seat of power built right next to it. The most dexterous techmagi had incorporated a powered shield to surround the dias and protect the Lord Inquisitor from the blast wave. The Maul was not only the death-bringer, it is also the Inquisitor's chair, a holy vessel made of steel and blood of martyrs, clad with a single gun and a single purpose.

"Ave Lord Inquisitor!" the battle sisters resounded as though one. "With Holy Fire we shall purge and destroy every last trace of you! We shall finish what the Damocles Crusade left undone!"

"Long live Lord March!" the fanatics found their voices back. "Death to the alien! Kill and burn very single one of them!" The guards fired blanks from their artillery to reinforce Lord March's retort. The alien leader ceased its address. The Guardsman's heart was heavy. A sense of loss and disappointment anchored down his heart. _They know the pain of loss and value trust. They love and they bleed. But they're a xeno horribilis, fit only to be purged._

XXX

The Guardsman slept as though he has never slept before. He was in the gentle warm arms of Mother Hysteria with her beautiful eyes. She always enjoyed mussing his black oily hair. Just as the young boy fell asleep in the mater's lap, he woke up to find himself processing import and export clearances for the dockyards at Port Stymonson. A lavishly decorated office interior sprawled before him. Bloated and corrupt figures laughed, drank and talked business as the Guardsman diligently destroyed evidences of illegal landings, shifted purples and imperial credits to fake accounts and created forgeries of official distribution rights to the subsidiary channels.

One of those mustached figures wrapped his arms around a tiny petite figure clad in the skimpiest clothing out there. His hairy hands groped and pinched the tender, budding flesh. Sarai. Her eyes bled as she stared at him. _Murderer. Liar. Self-server. Kin-slayer. Traitor. _The Guardsman was caught agape. He shook his head to clear up the memories. True enough, the accusing face disappeared. The whore was laughing with them, playing along and pretending to be shy. It made the old gizzards crazy. They showered her with praise alluding to her non-existent virginity as she smiled and dodged their foul caresses.

"Galerio! My son! So how much are we getting?" the mustached figure laughed as he missed his prey who gave a ravishing smile. The expressive eyes with the lustrous red eyeliner entranced and provoked the Guardsman's desires.

"Um, suppose we could evade customs with the usual means, the net profit would be two hundred and fifty seven million." the Guardsman answered. "That's the highest risk assessment. It would get down to a hundred and ninety eight million if we want to play it safe and secure the loyalties of certain imperial checkpoints."

"Two hundred and fifty seven! By the Emperor! Good sir Finn Mapleson, How did you come up with the extra fifty-seven?" a lavishly dressed merchandiser questioned loudly as he chugged a cupful of strong beverage.

"My good friend Harold! Don't you love the smell of another fifty seven million? Galerio's the best man I have. Give him an account book and he'd squeeze more out of it. Every cent and penny. Quit working, son. Let me introduce you to our friends." Mapleson replied and invited the Guardsman up from his desk. "This be Sir Harold Goodwing. Filters are what he does. If he goes through the customs and not us, he wouldn't be earning anything. This mighty one right here is Sir Gudrun Gone. Master captain and experienced guns-runner."

"So you're the Dockyard's Protégé?" Harold struggled to stand up to shake the Guardsman's hands. "Now tell, me, if you please, about the fifty-seven."

"Tricks of the trade. I am sorry." the Guardsman bowed politely.

"Come on, Galerio! It's all friends here." Mapleson slapped the Guardsman's back with his meaty hands. "Potemnus has a curious article about reduced taxation if you provide for the poverty class. We have a cover business that deals exclusively in the 'humanitarian trade'. Tax evasion combined with links to our loyal distributors who would pay higher than market price for it."

"Ah. Undercity gangs." Harold nodded.

"I wouldn't call them that. They're men like us clawing their way up. If they make it, I will give them all my respect." Mapleson grinned as he turned his attention to the petite lady that he finally managed to catch. Her dark eyes looked straight into the Guardsman's as she allowed the lustful beast to fondle her exposed breasts and neck.

"Well, Galerio. It's always a pleasure to meet promising young men like you." Harold said and slipped him a card. "Nice to know the business is concluded, sir Finn. But be reminded that we still have to drop by the Spire to give the Hivemaster a reminder. Gudrun got the shots we need."

"Hivemaster Greave is easier to scare than three year olds. We just need to tell him that the Docks run the Hive. And we have the Imperial Navis backing us up. He's just some figurehead of an outdated Imperium system. Who needs Hivemasters anyway? I could run the show. And I'm already doing it."

"I am sure, Finn. All that power! I am sure Port Stymonson would be changing its name to Port Mapleson soon." Harold nodded.

"A new dynasty in the making. Right, boy?" Mapleson patted and straightened the Guardsman's shoulder and collar.

"Of course, father." the Guardsman bowed. He knows he's still basically nothing if Finn Mapleson around.

"Son, if you wouldn't mind, get some men to clear warehouse 303 so that Sir Harold can bring in his wares. Also remember to get the finest suits out and pressed. The ones given to us by the Chief Prefect. Right now." Mapleson is eager to get into some action.

"At once." the Guardsman bowed again and exited the room with Harold Goodwin and Gudrun Gone.

"Boy, looks like you're all set. When I was your age I still had to climb my way up. And my fingers were all bleeding badly too." Harold remarked.

"That's rather unfortunate, sir." the Guardsman feigned sympathy and humility. He could hear the girl screaming in false ecstasy. There are words within her faked orgasms, which also seemed to be oddly familiar. _Murderer. Liar. Self-server. Kin-slayer. Traitor. PAN'TOKHA!_

"Lieutenant, get up! You've slept for 20 hours." Janus Bring knocked on the door loudly as he barged in. The Guardsman rubbed his eyes and sat up. The Sergeant had broken his arm in battle. With the timely help of the expert Hospitallers, everything should be healing on time for the assault.

"Get serious, Janus. It felt like 2." the Guardsman still felt groggy and exhausted.

"OK. Right. It's more like 2. You did get up for a while before going back to sleep again."

"I did?"

"Sure did. Hey, I was with you, Lieutenant. We went down a lagoon cave. Beautiful! Nice and warm and with salty water. And huge mollusks the size of Pontic melons. Boyle's making seafood pie. Locals say they're edible. But we'll get Greg to try them out first."

"Oh."

"Have you been exorcised, Lieutenant? You're so Greg right now." Janus didn't find the question to be a serious one. "You faze out, you look terrible very two weeks or so. And you sure look terrible now. Do you want me to help you to the water closets?"

"Don't joke about Greg. And I feel fine." the Guardsman personally felt that he should have been more careful about the once-smarter friend. He was treating him like cannon fodder right out there in the fields, asking him to tow an autocannon to his position. He could have gotten Greg killed.

"We could have lynched him. If you don't want me to joke about him, you should have him by your side. And then it will be my turn telling you not to be mean to Greg." Janus laughed. "You know, we three are recipients of the Emperor's constant blessings. None of us have bought anything serious so far. I just got a broken arm and got some triple A grade treatment. Mmmhmm."

"I'll get the paperwork to transfer Greg to the command platoon. So did some nice looking Hospitaller to set the arm for you?"

"That's totally right on target. They made me feel right at home and invincible. I could slay a million xenos just to spend one night in them." Janus joked. "Quality grade virgins. You don't get many of that. Back in Orres we could only satisfy ourselves with ten-purple whores."

"I don't want to hear about it, Sergeant. Take care of your arm. The Maul is still on its way. Slowly. Couldn't they drag it with the Trojans? This is really retarded."

"They have pilgrims and fanatics to spare. And the Trojans are busy carting hardware from Uriah's Line to March's Line. Good news is that most guns are moved by now. Bad news is that they're moving the Ecclesiarchy as well. We all thought the Primate Neusonn Marjory bought it. He will be back with us and start condemning us for fornications."

"What happened?"

"Heh. Well, Marjory got a bit fanatical and clambered over the trench before Uriah declared the assault. Something got into his puny brains. Maybe a brain maggot. Maine 'Backstabber' pinned him down just in time, and got hit by a pulse beam in the process. Unfortunately it didn't kill him. But note that Maine is a solid man. Add all that carapace armor and equipment. That stick should have been broken to several pieces. But he's tougher than he looks. And he is recommending Maine for a shining badge."

"The 1st company did save our rear end, Janus." the Guardsman reminded.

"They're ordered to advance, Lieutenant. Maine wouldn't give a purple tenth about you." Janus is beginning to turn sour.

"Janus, I know you're upset. He's dangerous. I don't want to mess with him and I wouldn't want you to either. You're a brother to me." the Guardsman consoled his sergeant. "I thank you for everything you did for us in the field. You prevented the xenos from making a complete encirclement."

"Forget that, Lieutenant. It was a half-hearted attempt. My 'CHAARGE' just don't have the kick to it. How do you do it? Every time you get emotional people get moved. I am definitely going to kill something if you say 'CHAARGE' right now. Something that resembles Maine."

"What did Maine ever do to you?"

"He did mark my platoon for cowardice and combat negligence. All thanks to Greg. Maybe you don't find that serious. It's pretty personal to me." Janus said with contempt. "Fucking prima-decas look down on everybody else."

"I didn't approve it. And Model didn't approve it. Maine is following the Tactica to the letter. He is basically taking over Henson's place and Henson's attitude."

"I know you would save my ass, but I never expected you to defend that ass-born beast. Worse than Henson. By the way…" Janus hushed his voice to a whisper. "We found a really nice lass for you. Stoic said she's a perfect match. And I trust Stoic. I don't think anyone in the guards touched her yet. Not even the prima decas. She's as clean as your badge. Literally shining with virginity."

"Don't you have pies to eat?"

"Don't try to change topic, Lieutenant. You've been lonely and you've been looking terrible every now and then. The lovely lady is waiting at your bunks. You should sleep in your own bed sometimes. I hate looking for you in the tactical command bunker. It's just not right."

"Fine. I will have a look." the Guardsman caved in. He did feel lonely at times. The Orresian regiments always maintained a number of camp followers. The quartermastery usually keeps them busy with resource requisition and other menial duties. But many of them did earn additional black market income from the guardsmen desperate for companionship in long campaigns. Henson probably felt unfair. He got the lashes while the low ranking guardsmen got away.

"Ah! Lieutenant!" Stoic was standing outside the officer's bunkhead in the underground barracks. He also whispered in the Guardsman's ears. "Very hard to come by. Nigel almost had her."

"You know Henson got in trouble for this."

"Henson got in trouble for other reasons. He's soft-eared and listens to women too much. Wait, I take that back. He listens to the wrong women too much. If he had listened to Lord Inquisitor Horatia March he would be in a much better shape. Plus, showing off your trophy slave girls in looted jewel and riches is basically asking for trouble. One of them even started treating regimental command like her home and the command squad like her servants. Old Man Model should have corrected such behavior."

"The prima decas were garrisoning the city under Henson. The Old Man was at the rear camps sparring with the corrupt quartermastery, remember. Old Model wasn't there to correct his son quickly enough."

"You know, all these fucking turds. They treat the Crusade as a means to earn money. They're worse than aliens and traitor scum. Henson is an angel compared to the ex-quartermastery. Praise the Emperor and Lord Mater Horatia March. I would defend her with my life." Stoic said with great earnest. _She's also very beautiful. Maybe Stoic liked that too._

"So you're happy that Henson's gone?"

"Yeah. Satisfies my own thirst for a little vendetta."

"How about Maine? Aren't you angry about Maine?"

"Maine is the one that reported on Henson Model, Church. Who else could it be? I loved that boy. Treated him like a son, really. You know, when you're in this fraternity, you sort of view people you've been with like family members. Deep down I don't want anything to happen to Maine. But he's up against the Old Man. Louis is not going to let this slide easily."

"That's a lot of politics." the Guardsman felt more depressed. "Too much."

"You'll get used to it, Church. And you'll want to climb up. People will start to respect you. And you'll be able to really do something for people that you care about. You have what it takes. People like you and grant you favors disproportionate to your rank. I don't know why or how. You have that touch." Stoic said. It reminded the Guardsman of old man Kilburn that died in the Hive 15 uprising. "You have that ability to make people want to have part of your qualities. You play dumb when necessary, and never lacked generosity. But you should learn to be more concerned about yourself and get into a position of power. Once you're up there, you'll be able to look out for all of us."

"I suppose. I will try." the Guardsman felt even more stressed.

"Maine is like you in everyway. He does things his own way, though, and remembers every thing in every single detail. Forgetfulness is a virtue at times." Stoic nodded. "Don't force yourself too hard. And the lassy is waiting inside."

The Guardsman opened the bunk to find a girl in her early twenties sitting on the bed, clothed in rough and utilitarian clothing. Her features are rather pleasant to look at, though her eyes are a bit small. "Do you speak Gothic?" the Guardsman said as he closed the door behind him.

The girl nodded. Her eyes studied the Guardsman slowly.

"Can you say something, then? Your name. It would be nice to learn your name." He tried not to sound like a desperate beast that he is turning into. For a year he had been depriving himself of intimacy. And the past few months had exposed him to constant bloodshed and life-death situations. He wanted to bring this girl down and give her love. Hard.

"Trance." the girl said in a curious accent. Probably influenced by her xeno masters. "Trance May, my Lord."

"Beautiful name. You speak beautifully too." the Guardsman took his flak jacket off and then proceeded to undo his buttons. The girl's hair is dark brown, which seemed to stand in contrast to her pale hazel eyes. Enticing, nonetheless. So this is what he snatched from Nigel's mouth. Trance broke into a weak smile. The Guardsman knew it was faked. Other parts of the face betrayed a strange contradiction of fear and hatred.

"Please. I don't want to do this." Trance finally said. The Guardsman was already half naked. His smooth olive skin was pockmarked with scars and healed burn marks.

"It would be over in an instant. I can keep you safe here."

"Please, lord. Let me go." Tears streamed down her eyes as the Guardsman clambered over her and tried to pin her down. He noticed something hidden below the pillow and glanced at his personal armory. Trance knew that her façade had been seen through and bounced into action. The small combat knife was already in her hands as she made a lethal thrust to his chest. "Barbarians of the Throne! Burn in your pathetic hellfire!"

The Guardsman, however, was faster. He had already suspected the girl when he saw the faked smile. He grabbed her wrist just as the tip touched his chest, and was surprised at the strength she had. Trance flipped him off the bed onto the ground and pinned his right elbow down with her knee. The Guardsman blocked her downward thrust with his free left arm. The knife stabbed right through, but was stuck at the hilt between the ulna and radius. White hot pain shot through his body but it made his mind clearer. The familiar red mist came again and time slow down to a crawl. Before Trance could pull the knife out the Guardsman butted her chest with his head, knocking the air out of her as she tumbled backwards.

With a thunderous crash, the bunk door was kicked open. Nigel Maine and his select Lieutenants were outside ready to charge in. He looked like a predator deprived of his hunt at the last minute. "What a scene. I thought Stoic wanted the girl to himself. You know I hate fighting over girls with desperate old men. But it turned out to be a tribute for you."

The Guardsman stared at Nigel as he pulled his combat knife out of his arm. "Pardon my rudeness, Lieutenant Colonel."

"That's fine by me. Have the assassin detained. She'll walk the Regiment. Or I can make it easier. She'll walk the company. My 1st company." Nigel Maine grinned as Trance was dragged up unceremoniously by the battle hardened storm troopers. Maine cuddled her face with his gloved hands. "Don't look at me like that, vixen. He's just a Lieutenant. Nothing worth your time. I'm your supposed prey. The Lieutenant Colonel of Orres 11th. My guards are the Scourges. I will make them Scourges of Virgins today."

"It's just a misunderstanding, Maine." the Guardsman got back to his legs. "She's still mine. I was trying to demonstrate how the combat knife works. I guess narcotics have that effect on you."

"That's a lame excuse. Look at you now. You're completely degenerate. You no longer deserve the title of Church-boy." Maine wasn't impressed, much less convinced. "Tell you what. You can still have her if you want. My men can pin her down for you given your sorry state. I have no interest in her any more. I don't deal with infiltrators or assassins. I only deal with beautiful innocent virgins. And they're an extinct race."

Trance stared at the Guardsman with a thinly veiled surprise. The Guardsman lowered his head in shame. "Take her, Lieutenant Colonel. But give her a quick death. That's all I ask."

"No can do. She will walk the company. Nude. My men need some exercise in their arms anyway." Maine ignored the Guardsman completely and studied Trance carefully, eyeing her figure. She spat in his face. The Lieutenant Colonel wiped the spittle with his gloved hands and studied it too. He sniffed it and concluded his observations. "You should really clean your mouth after eating mollusks, milady. Quartermastery got mollusk pies today. We'll give you some before you walk the company. I don't like to send hungry souls to hell."


	13. The Trap is Closed

Chapter 013

The youngest of them could hardly walk. Maid Iariss looked on with a feigned disinterest. She actually wanted to hold them close, to ask them for their parent-given names. They would be receiving new ones that exemplify loyalty to the Imperium. New clothes. And even new faces if required. They will realize their duties to the Emperor and sing praises to Him. They will be taught to burn the unclean xenos, the heathens and the traitor. To mend the broken of flesh and spirit and to guide them to the right path.

An older boy held a baby in her hands which he reluctantly handed over to the Hospitallers before running away. It reminded Iariss of the girl that stood in the city corner before they purged it. _May the Emperor watch over their souls._ _And may the Emperor bless this one for his choice. _Palatine Gracefinn pinched their wrists and gauged the strength of their thin bones. The flesh and blood of this world is weak, fit only for the non-militant orders. A choir of songsters sang praises as the toddlers and babes were showered with saint's dust and holy water. Dedicated Hospitallers carried them aboard the Consecrated Tranports. One of the girls stared at Maid Iariss with her curious eyes. Unlike most of the rest who were either crying or confused, she seemed to have a full understanding of the situation going on around her.

"Maid, escort the transport back to the Watch. The _Concremarus_ would take them to the Holy Fleet." Palatine Gracefinn ordered.

"May I be so bold to ask, are my skills not required anymore?"

"You will return as ordered. These are the future of our Order. Do not falter. Do not fail. Do not forget your Duties as the Daughter of the Emperor."

"I hear and obey, Sister Palatine." Iariss bowed and climbed aboard the transports. Her elevated position allowed her to see a larger part of the fortifications. March's Line was just as imposing as Uriah's. In the course of a few weeks the Guards prepared offensive fortifications. Tens of thousands of guns were relined, primed and awaiting the imminent command. Inquisitor Horatia March sat on her affixed seat, looking down on the masses. Right besides her within reach is the Maul, cast from the blood of ten thousand martyrs and sealed with a holy pint of March's own. This was her gift to the Imperial Guards. An army of techpriests swarmed around the Maul as they soothed the Machine Spirit. They called it the Omnissiah's Expiration. Menials and servitors churned and worked the levers of the massive generator that would rotate the emplacement and winch the artillery shells. The projectiles themselves, each as big as a Chimera transport, were borne on the back of the pilgrims and faithful. Each of them was given a consecrated number and even a name. _Hammer, Nail _and _Anvil _rumbled past her as the fanatics heaved to the beats of the drum.

The _Concremarus _was already waiting as the trucks unloaded the children with their caretakers. A handful of battle sisters escorted them onboard. The Hospitallers cooed the toddlers to sleep as the vessel rocked and jolted. For many reasons, Maid Iariss envied the non-militants.

XXX

"Cleanse this soiled land with Holy Fire!" the helmed battle sisters in their suits of pale white battle armor crushed the dead and dying under their armored heels. Bolters and flamers mowed down the escaping mobs with ease. Iariss turned her head around to see one of the sisters hit by a slugger round right on the chest. She shrugged it off and continued blasting, pushing aside vehicle wrecks with deadly ease.

The city was in ruins. Butchery has started with earnest. Even those that were on their knees begging for the Emperor's succor were given a point blank shot. Not even the infirmed or the weak was spared. The heresy had proven too great. Everything must be destroyed. Inquisitorial storm troopers advanced methodologically down the streets, dragging even the old and the young onto the street before executing them en masse. Intense shelling and bombardment continued at a distance. It was the play ground of the Ordo Militant.

Just as Iariss was mesmerized by the beauty of battle, a young lad in his late teens swept her up onto his back. He was clad in simple overalls with a sweater that smelled of soot. The lad darted through the inferno nimbly, avoiding the collapsing beams and the armored butchers. "We may have lost this day, but we will wait and get back at them." he reassured himself. Iariss looked at his face. It's the fool's face. Youthful, idealist and ultimately heretical. "Grab my neck, Rosie, we have to make a run for it."

"No, you can't go anywhere. It's too late." Maid Iariss said.

"I swear we'll look for Comrade General Lolly afterwards. We have to run to uncle Stylus right now. He's taking over district command." the boy said, ignoring Iariss' comment.

"Stylus is purged with Holy Fire. They will purge you with bolter and mace." Iariss exclaimed. "Put me down!"

"Don't cry, Rosie. We'll just hide for a while. They will leave the planet when they think everything that opposed them is dead. And we will build again. We will come back stronger. These religious fanatics with their guns and ships. We will fight them regardless." the boy kicked open a jammed door and rushed inside the ravaged bakery. He flew down the winding stairs into a secret sewers entrance. Echoes of gunfire and screams could be heard.

"Fool! Put me down! You've sealed your fate!" Iariss screamed.

"Yes, Rosie. It would be safe down here. Mother Golds told me to bring you to her. It doesn't matter if they kill a million of us. So long as Rosie remembers all and grows up to fight for the People." the boy suddenly stopped. Heavy footsteps could be heard around the corner.

"Fuck…fuck your Imperium…" a feeble woman's voice could be heard. The bolter report was too familiar.

"Shit. They got Mother Golds." the boy whispered as he tightened his grip around Iariss' mouth.

"You're doomed. Heretic and heathen. We shall give you no quarter!" Iariss passed her judgment. But no one seemed to have heard her. The youth nodded confidently at her with a painful smile. He pulled out a las pistol from his belt, his hands trembling around the handle and trigger as he tried to control his breathing. He backed himself up against a corner, listening intently at the footsteps. A silhouette of a battle sister appeared around the corner. With a battle cry, a squad of rebels attacked from their ambushing positions, pumping solid slugs with great fury.

"Take your fucking Imperium back to where it belongs! Monsters! Butchers!" a soldier bellowed as he unloaded an entire fifty round belt into the adversary.

"The People's Commune will live on!" another rebel shouted before a bolter smashed his head completely, sending the body flying back beyond the corner. Before Iariss could say _Hail the Emperor_, the boy had slammed his hand on her mouth again.

"You turned your back from the light! May the Emperor past judgment on your black godless souls!" the deep voice echoed in the sewers as her bolter ripped through the pathetic barricades and tore up the unarmored rebels with great ease. A single Imperial had killed at least eight rebels without a scratch. Autoguns and mechanized autorifles can't hurt them in their armor. "There's one more of you. Show yourself, worm."

Before the lad could charge out around the corner, another rebel with a plasma-blade leapt down from an overhead shaft. The battle sister dodged the attack with superhuman grace, and with a swing of the mace she sent the man flying. As the broken body crunched against the wall the boy cocked his las pistol and turned the corner. He fired five times. Iariss knew that by heart. A bolter round blew his left leg off. The way the severed leg flew in the air before splashing lifelessly in the sewage water was imprinted in her mind. The lad should have died from the shock. But with heretical technologies and impure ways of this sinful planet he had endured the wounds, panting and grasping at the bloody stump. The battle sister slammed his chest down with her feet.

"Before you…you kill us for the soul-less beasts you call us, Imperial, search within yourself. Do you have any?" the youth said through labored breathing.

"We do not ask questions. We only perform the duties asked of us. The Emperor only provides for the Faithful. The destiny of those that dwell in their godless fantasies is eternal hellfire. Remember this as you die, heathen."

"Fucking bullshit. You know why you've won. You took advantage of the Ork invasion. We overpowered the greenskins with our own blood and sweat without your help, and you had the fucking galls to attack us when our best warriors died in millions…" the boy never finished his line. His hand had reached for a grenade. The mace swung down and smashed his face. Iariss huddled behind a dead rebel, trying to grab at something tucked at the belt of a dead rebel soldier. The helmeted imperial looked at her with an amoral curiosity. She sheathed the bloodied mace back in the holder suspended at her side and released the depleted magazine cartridge from her bolter. It was reloaded in an instant and a new round was pushed into the firing chamber. The barrel stared down between Iariss' eyes. Her life was only held by a thin thread of fate, tugged at by the weight of the stars.

"Hail the Emperor." Iariss cried, holding a looted gold aquila in her hands, mimicking those who begged for mercy but received none. "Hail the Emperor!" _She didn't want to die._

XXX

"Hail Lord Admiral Eliab Vyn!" the officers on the commodore's deck saluted the obese commander of the Holy Fleet. Iariss woke up from her daydreams. Memories that she had buried had emerged once more. _The Fool! The dream avatar! I must visit the Chamber of Lenity again._ Eliab was tailed by the giant Lord General Militant Sears Wessex who looked worse with every passing day.

"At ease, gentlemen. Has Lord Inquisitor March disabled planetary defense over the Peninsular Continent?" Wessex asked.

"No, Lord Wessex. Orbital surveillances tell us that the xeno platforms are still active. Lord March will inform us once she had seized control of them." a fleet officer said.

"Hmph." the neglected General Militant of the Orresian system grunted. Sears Wessex wasn't receiving a great of attention. Nevertheless, Lord March took a great of his suggestions to heart. She reinforced the Isthmus line and gave Uriah sufficient freedom of action to lure the xenos into an abortive offensive. She also gave Uriah sufficient firepower to overwhelm the xenos in the field battle at the Isthmus, and even cast a device in the Guards' name. It was one of the rare occasion in which the Ecclesiarchy was _that_ pleased with the Guards.

"General Wessex, is there something you might want to add?" Eliab notices every single thing. Especially displeasure.

"We should have supported the Guards from orbit a long while ago." Sears Wessex grunted.

"Not while the xenos have active planetary defenses over the Peninsula, Wessex. We can't risk damaging the Emperor's Holy Arks anymore. Plus, the Guards are doing fine without us so far. Once they breach the Isthmus defense and seize the plasma generators and weapon platforms, we would support the Guards with everything we got and turn their cities to glass."

"And that's probably at least two hundred thousand dead men we're talking about. Two hundred thousand good and bloodied men that must die to even scratch the generators."

"Oh. Don't tell me that Orres is low on men. The last time I checked the census, it's pretty much telling me the opposite." Eliab said nonchalantly. "You still have two upcoming waves. I have naval protocols to follow, and I do try my best to appease the Guards. Transport barges are already en route with reinforcements. ETA of 2 months. And that's my pessimistic estimate"

"Lord March has provided her recommendations for the commencement, Lord Admiral." a fleet officer interrupted. "Clearance code decrypted: 75492-JUNO-1120."

"Good. General Wessex will take a look and affirm."

"I stand by every decision of the Ecclesiarchy and Inquisition." Wessex was uninterested. He left the commodore's deck in a huff, walking past Maid Iariss with great indignity. _Too much casualties. And the cities are garrisoned by a token company. A company! By the Emperor!_

Iariss, however, was disappointed. In these few days she had waited patiently. Waited for the order from the Palatine to get back to the surface and cleanse the world from xenos and heathens. But it never came. And now Lord March is fanning the flames for an assault. Iariss felt neglected and fearful. _Don't they need my skills anymore? Or have they known my secrets?_

That night she woke up drenched in her sweat again. Her hands are sticky with her secretions. _I have sinned…again._ She sat in her bed, alone in the squad chambers. While Palatine Gracefinn led her companions in cleansing the world of its filth, she is stuck here looking after whining toddlers and disgruntled army men undeserving of their ranks. Her breasts felt tender and her body was still hot. Out of curiosity she flipped open a small mirror and looked at her sex for the first time. It was scarred and unsightly. Disgusted by the ugliness of it, she tossed the mirror away and donned her robes. The soiled flesh must be cleansed once more with the fires of pain.

The corridors are unnaturally quiet. There were no sisters to guard the long winding labyrinth. All of them were down on the planet in the Holy War except for a handful. The servitors kept the chambers lit and replaced burnt out candles with single-mindedness. Iariss knelt down before the empty altar and recited the _Lamentations of Repentance._ Just as Iariss was about to finish the first chapter, the innocent laughter of two young girls rang down the halls with their loud footsteps.

She didn't know why she got up. The codex obligated one to kneel through a recitation and a single chapter at a bare minimum. One of the girls looked familiar. The one that stared at her curiously and calmly.

"What are you doing here?" Iariss asked angrily. Largely at herself.

"Gianne wanted to play hide and seek." the familiar one said with a Hughian accent.

"Musille runs away when she's found. She's not playing by the rules." Gianne complained.

"Can you find your way out?"

"No." both girls shook their heads. _Their teachers must be reprimanded for this gross neglect._

"Which Ordo do you guys belong to?"

"We're in the…the Schola Progenium!" Musille looked pleased she had memorized the term.

"I had nearly forgotten about that. They run selection trials later." Iariss was reminded that she was an exception. Palatine Gracefinn preferred to train the ones she want in her squad from the youngest age possible to supplement the Schola. It's the reason why Iariss had erroneously regarded the Progenium as somewhat unnecessary.

"Hey, I know you. You're that nice lady that helped us. You're so strong and your armor is shiny. Where is it now?" Musille giggled.

"Hush, girls. I will see you two back." Iariss took the two girls by their hands and walked down the corridor. It was an odd feeling. Their hands are tiny and soft against hers which were roughened and callused. Both Musille and Gianne kept asking stupid questions along the way. They still have no idea that they're on a battleship. Neither do they know that the mean old men that pace around doing candles are mindless servitors.

"I gave them a cookie wafer. They didn't even say thank you." Gianne said.

"I climbed on their backs. They didn't even care!" Musille affirmed.

"They are repentant heretics serving their terms that had their minds cleansed from their wayward beliefs and demonic possessions. The Emperor will forgive their sins through their duties and sacrifice of self." Iariss explained, ignoring again the fact that they're too young to understand.

"What are heretics?" Musille asked.

"People that turn their backs from the Emperor's guidance."

"Who's the Emperor? We were taught to pray to Him everyday but I have never seen him. Does He need our prayers?"

"No. We are the ones that need the prayers to remind ourselves of the Sacrifice during the Heresy. He sacrificed Himself so that Mankind may be united against the alien, mutant and heretic. I will have no more questions now." Iariss got tired of their incessant curiosity. Answering them made her feel like a hypocrite.

"Ah, sister of the Militant Order." a young Hospitaller came with a hurried look on her face. "You found the girls for me."

"Keep a careful eye over them, Hospitaller. They disturbed my repentance."

"Of course, my sister." the young lady bowed sheepishly. The Militants are everything. They're on the top of the hierarchy with the Inquisitors, and the non-militants' duty is to follow their whims and wishes.

"Sister Voinylle, is it not?" Iariss found the Hospitaller somewhat familiar.

"Yes, Sister. I hope that your wounds have healed." Voinylle bowed again as she held the two toddlers close to her.

"The wounds have healed, a testament to the Emperor's grace and your diligence." Iariss replied coldly, and made her way back to the Chamber of Litany.

"Sister Maid Iariss." Voinylle called out her name. "You know that Gianne and Musille are both destined for the Chamber Militant."

"They are?" the Maid looked straight into the eyes of Musille. She was reminded of the feeble young girl that begged for her life with a looted aquila.

"They are the Palatine's first choice." the Hospitaller nodded. Gracefinn again. She had decided their fates right from the start.

XXX

"Prepare for orbital descent! Initiate Bombardment Protocols! Techpriests, check gunnery control and the output of every fusion generator. I would not have any gun misfiring and harming the Lord Inquisitor's retinue!" Eliab Vyn barked and slapped the officers to make them work faster.

"At once, Lord Admiral." the techpriests immediately began turning knobs and switching dials. The massive vessel began its slow descent. Orbital support has initiated way before schedule. _By the word and will of Lord March_.

Maid Iariss was in complete war-gear. She clambered up the commodore's deck to witness the general confusion. Sears Wessex had activated the gigantic holo-displays and was relaying orders down to regimental level. His datalogger is clearly overheating and his vox caster is gargling with background noise.

"Breakout of the Isthmus Trap at all costs! Protect the Lord Inquisitor! Either you make it out or we will turn the whole thing, and that includes you, Uriah, to glass!" Sears Wessex bellowed into the vox-cast.

"A trap within a trap. Fortunately there's still something to even the odds."

"Incoming, Lord Admiral. The xenos have launched anti-orbital weaponry. Estimated impact in 15 seconds."

"Hold on, gentlemen." Eliab Vyn tuned his datalogger and vox cast. "Zeelander, disengage and join the main fleet at the Isthmus. Pine, take your fleet and level cities 017 through 029 in the subcontinent. Teach the heathens a lesson."

The entire vessel shook violently as giant ionic orbs smashed against the shielding. One of them hit the ship in the mid-section. The last jolt knocked even Eliab Vyn off his feet. The holographic display flickered and died. A servitor quickly disengaged a few wiring tubes and affixed new ones. The replacement flashed into place, fuzzier and less well focused than the original.

"Soothe the Flow of Amperes!" a tech-magos shouted into the vox. "Channel auxiliary power. Reduce the dirge of Ohm. Ask forgiveness from the Machine Spirit and begin the churning of drive beta!"

"Damage report! Dammit!" Eliab Vyn didn't want to hear any non-sense.

"Lord Admiral, the keel was strained but still intact. We have lost the power to five main turrets. Steering is compromised." the Magos slashed down pages of data into simple lines that even Iariss could understand. "Orbital bombardment protocol will fall behind by 3 hours."

"If we have a few regiments on board we could have used them to jump-start the engine." Sears Wessex said. "But given that all of them happened to be down there on the planet I suppose we can use some exercise."

"Quit your joking, ground plodder. You know that if we lose the Lord Inquisitor here, we will find battling to the death a necessity and a privilege. The Inquisition would have us and our entire house burnt on sticks for negligence and treason if we survive this."

"Warp readings, Lord. The Engineseer has interpreted the Navigator's visions." a petty officer provided the latest change to the general situation.

"Ours?" Eliab Vyn knew that the Warp is a very random thing. Ten percent of the time at the minimum.

"We don't know, Lord. Unless they appear there's no way to tell. And the xenos have begun charging their defenses again. Estimated time of firing in about fifteen minutes."

"Initiate evasive maneuvers. What does it look like down there?" Eliab Vyn asked. The holographic display fuzzed and reappeared again.

"They drew nine million reinforcements out of thin air." Sears Wessex pointed to the massive column engaged in a vicious stalemate at March's Line, and a second one that will be overwhelming the depleted Uriah's Line. "Potemnus is a fool. A damnable fool. We should have put every single one of them, men, women and children, to the flames. It's senseless to talk sense to traitors."

"You're suggesting dangerous things, Guardsman." Eliab Vyn's lips trembled with frustration.

"Damn you, navis scum." Sears Wessex has resigned to the fact that Uriah and his four million men are trapped. They would eat up everything on the Isthmus, starve and then surrender. That is if the fleet doesn't interfere. "When could the men expect full fleet support?"

"3 hours. And that is if we survive all the xeno orbital defense barrages. Pine and Zeelander could only reach us in 4." Eliab Vyn stared down into the churning atmosphere and the narrow Isthmus. Millions of men are fighting and dying down there. _And so are my sisters._ Iariss knew that the situation was grim. Too grim, a stark contrast to the optimism she had observed before leaving the surface.

"Rear Admiral Zeelander's got contact. Hostile. Overwhelming numbers. Recommending escape to Warp Space and rally reinforcements from Orres."

"Coward." Eliab Vyn spat. "He can't deal with flimsy xenos merchantmen?"

"Not merchantmen, Lord Admiral." the officer switched the Holographic display without asking for Wessex's permission. The ship is the property and kingdom of the Admiralty. Rear Admiral Zeelander's _Saint Gladstone_ was engaged in large xeno vessels of another design. Unlike the smooth long blocks that exemplify the xeno starships, the enemy flagship was a brutish behemoth of a vessel. Swarms of attack crafts assaulted _Saint Gladstone_ at the most appropriate vectors, blasting at the ship where it could not shoot back and surgically removing turret defenses to move into more critical components. The devious xenos had launched the best strike crafts at the cathedral complex, unleashing volleys of torpedoes, rockets and plasma bursts. The enemy cruisers were similar in its pragmatic and aesthetically displeasing design. Nonetheless, the systematic destruction of the Imperial cruisers was spectacularly painful to the Admiral.

"The mish-mash pile of galactic misfits poisoned by xeno philosophy!" Eliab Vyn cursed. He had no words to describe his bitterness. _Saint Gladstone_ and her escorts was no match for this alien fleet. "Zeelander! You fucking coward. Are you still alive? Evasive maneuvers…damn you! Damn you! Damn you!"

"Doesn't look too good." Sears Wessex observed the stricken vessel reeling under the brutal onslaught. The alien vessel only sought to destroy the command deck, warp capability and the main drives. It had begun to recall its swarms and locked itself into an orbit. The next target in line would be _Esteemed Mark._

"How is Yules doing?"

"We lost touch with the _Esteemed Mark_. Rear Admiral Pine is probably trying to wash himself of responsibility. We suspect he's engaging warp drive. May that bastard burn on a pyre, and may it burn slowly." the executive rating said angrily through clenched teeth.

"Engage orbital surveillance! I want to see this traitor with my eyes." Eliab shouted, his chin jiggling with his fury. The holographic display flickered. The _Esteemed Mark _also had its hands completely full, this time with standard xeno cruiser-class vessels that outnumber the imperial fleet two to one. With a mighty flash, the entire fleet delved into Warp Space and escaped. Eliab slammed his fist into his meaty palms. "Yules Pine…don't think you can get away with this. Curse you. May the Warp devour you for eternity."

"General Militant, this one is for you." an officer tossed Sears an ear piece.

"Lord General Militant Sears Wessex of the Vermandois Crusade. Good. Bless the souls of our glorious dead." Sears Wessex looked at Eliab Vyn and handed him the receiver. "Uriah's dead. The xenos captured his defensive lines and our men are trapped. You know the shots, Navis. The Lord Inquisitor will speak with you herself."

The Fleet Admiral listened intently to Lord March's final commands. "With all my flesh and blood I will see this mission complete, Lord March." Eliab turned to the members of fleet command. "Men of the fleet! The Imperium, her citizens and the Ecclesiarchy expects each and everyone of us to do their duty. Clearance code MARCH-152008. The target has been autolocked by the Lord Inquisitor herself. Arm the fusion atomics." Eliab Vyn gave the sentence before getting down on his knees and wept like a wounded bear.

"All hail Lord Inquisitor Horatia March! Martyr of Vermandois!" Sears Wessex saluted the imminent martyrdom of Horatia March as the gunnery officer delegated the order. Two large torpedoes were launched from the prow, breaking up into smaller reentry vehicles designed to carry the destructive package onto the land surface. All those that could kneel did so promptly and repeated the Genreal Militant's line.

"Third Warp contact. Too late for maneuvers, it's emerged!" an officer said with a tone that's colder than a sheet of ice. The xeno fleet appeared overhead and began its unrelenting fusillade of broadsides and launching her nimble swarms.

"This vessel is stricken. Glory to the Emperor." Eliab Vyn said. He knew the capability of the vessel by heart. The _Crest_ is outflanked and outgunned at this vector. It would take an hour to get into a decent firing position, all the while being pounded from the top by the third xeno fleet and the bottom by their planetary defense. "Gentlemen, we die with honor today. More will avenge us. Humankind is Legion. We have crushed all before us and we will avenge today's defeat."

Sears Wessex squeezed a smile out of his face. "Damn you, Navis. I would rather die on the ground with the atomics blazing the enemies around me. Not in a giant space coffin."

"No hard feelings, Lord Wessex." Vyn extended his hand. Wessex shook it, and the two embraced each as brothers as the first enemy volley crushed the pressurized command decks. But Iariss wasn't there. She's already running down the never-ending corridors for the heart of the basilica. The _Concremarus._ It's still in the holds and there are sisters to be saved. Most importantly, _she didn't want to die._

Iariss didn't know what degree of damage had been transpired, but the decks reversed at least once, and various sections were sealed off by airlocks to prevent complete depressurization. _No direct path to the Cathedral now._ Her sinful excursions to look for the fool gave her complete knowledge of the holds, allowing her to circumvent the central lockdown via the ventilation shafts. Techpriests and their dying minions continued their rounds as usual, this time walking on the ceiling instead of the floor, unaware that the vessel was being slowly hammered to pieces.

Another barrage hit home. Pipes burst under pressure, unleashing steaming hot air mixtures that kept the holds habitable. The Maid, protected by her power armor, passed through these barriers without harm. Integral visual augmentation allowed her to see through the fogged up interiors with ease. The surroundings turned more familiar as the Maid got closer to the Cathedral Basilica, where the young ones picked up from Hugh Alpha were kept. Iariss is determined to get them back, running as fast as her power armor allowed and jumping across gaping holes in the decks left by the enemy fusillade.

She didn't have to get all the way back to the Chambers to find Voinylle and her two charges. The Hospitaller, through her determination, had managed to carry the two toddlers with her arms all this while. She had been running down the littered hallways with her bare feet which now ran raw and bleeding from a dozen cuts. "By the Emperor! Forgive me, Sister Militant. They're the only two I could save!" Voinylle was on the verge of emotional breakdown. "The cruel space took all the others. All of them. Oh Father, have pity!"

"Get up on your feet and walk, Hospitaller. We must make it to the _Concremarus_!" Maid Iariss wasn't interested in the story. She had seen enough deaths and the cruelty that caused it. She even carried them out in numerous occasions.

"At once! At once! We will follow the Militant Order to whatever end!" Voinylle was trained to follow. Not to lead.

"Shut your crying or I will put you down right away!" Iariss was annoyed at the two screaming and crying girls and blared out with her vox. Gianne and Musille hurriedly shut their mouths with their tiny hands. The Maid seized one of them by the waist and continued her way to the docking bays. The bays was deserted save for the Inquisitorial Ark. All the bays were tightly shut. It is strictly deader than the _Crest of the Emperor._

"By the Emperor's Name, OPEN!" the battle sister pounded at the loading bay. The Hospitaller knew that there was no other way to escape. None of them knew where the escape pods are. Iariss cursed herself. She should have grabbed a naval orderly or ranked rating, and forced information out of him.

"This is the end, isn't it?" Voinylle said calmly as she held the two girls close to her, kissing them on their cheeks.

"NO! This cannot be the end! I can't die without knowing what has happened to my sisters on the ground! I cannot die without seeing the Fool die first!" Iariss pounded even harder, smashing and denting her own gauntlets against the vessel's hull. "OPEN! You damned Machine Spirit! OPEN UP!" Without knowing anything about the vessel, she cocked her bolter pistols _Purge_ and _Censor_ and began blasting away madly. _I will whip the sleeping heretical contraption into action. Or die trying!_

Iariss must have hit something critical. Dormant servitors immediately swung into action as they blindly began the ritual to repair the spirit of their mechanical deity. The bays were opened by a multi-armed servitor who then proceeded to board the ship and carry out internal repairs. "I knew this would work!" the Maid laughed as she knocked the multi-armed servitor aside and charged up the docking ramp, closely followed by the Hospitaller and the two girls. Iariss threw away her helmet as she entered the pilot's nest.

"Alright, Hospitaller. Fly this thing off the ship and land us on the planet."

"I…I don't know how." Voinylle chewed her fingernails nervously as she stared at the vast array of buttons, levers and control shafts.

"Useless! Get me out of this suit. It's getting in my way!" the enraged Maid shouted. The Hospitaller muttered prayers as she tried to undo the latches with trembling hands. The armor pieces fell apart as the pressure locks were disengaged. Kicking away the heavy greaves, Iariss flexed her shoulders and sat down heavily on the chair. "Hide in a storage atrium somewhere. I am not sure if I can pilot this device myself!" the Maid confessed her own ineptitude. Just as she was about to grab the power up lever, her wrist was grabbed by a hydraulic pincer.

"Flight…general?" the inhuman face, covered with wires, rusted tubing and intrusive bionic implants stared curiously at the Maid. It was the servitor that the Maid had knocked aside. Without her power armor, Iariss could not fight the mechanical arm and was caught in a death grip. "Loiret-Cher Commune 198th orbital cavalry…reporting…reporting for duty, comrade." The five mechanical visual inputs glowed and dimmed as it tried to obtain focus. "Orders…orders, comrade general." The hydraulic pincer was released as the servitor asked again. Emaciated arms tried to give a familiar salute. Not of the Guards nor of the Ordos Militant. But from a memory that Iariss thought long buried.

Voinylle, previously horrified by the sudden attack by the servitor, came to realize that this man-bot was the only thing that could save them all. "Fly the craft, servitor, and land it safely on the planet!" she screamed on top of her lungs. The servitor saluted again, and began flailing about wildly as it drilled itself into the flight seat. "Buckle….buckle up, comrade. This…will be a rough ride. Gor…gor gor." the last few noises sounded like a chuckle of sorts. Hydraulic pincers grabbed the control shaft and engine drive output, shifting it gingerly with the tell-tale signs of a well-trained airman.

"Unfamiliar user interface…no matter. I will learn…learn it in no time, comrade." the servitor said coldly as the engine turbines began to turn, sending trembles throughout the _Concremarus_. The bay door was closed as the vessel jolted. The massive air locks were the recipient of another hit as the _Crest_ reeled about its longitudinal axis. It provided a convenient escape hole, but it only looked too small.

The battle sister stared at the servitor. It paid no attention to her as it steered the rudders carefully and aimed for hole. "Long…long…long live Loiret-Cher! The People's Commune will Triumph!" the servitor began chanting lines that were supposed to be destroyed with invasive lobotomy needles hammered through its eyes. The engines blared and the _Concremarus_ rammed itself through the opening in the hull, ripping its own right wing and top turret in the process.

"Bless the Emperor's Name." Iariss said in response as they escaped the stricken battleship and dove into the embrace of Hugh Alpha's atmosphere. Massive ionic orbs shot past them in near relativistic speeds, smashing into the _Crest of the Emperor _that they left behind. "We will sing of His deeds for eternity. His hands guide everything, even the heretic's mind to deliver the faithful from death." The Maid closed her eyes as her tears welled up. She could not prevent her emotions from getting the better of her. _I am a hypocrite._


	14. The Apostate

Chapter 014

Nigel Maine was accompanied by one of his prima-deca storm trooper donned in full carapace armor and a helmet. The two climbed aboard a Trojan which promptly drove away from March's fortifications back to Uriah's Line at the mouth of the Isthmus. Guardsmen clacked their heels together and saluted when Maine went past them. A column of Leman Russ tanks were dragging cartloads of munitions and supplies in the opposite direction. The command tank that bore the insignia of the Orresian 11th halted. Louis Model, a good man and a nemesis, crawled out of the open hatch.

"Lord Colonel Model." Maine jumped off the Trojan and saluted as the tank officer reached the ground.

"Lieutenant Colonel Maine." Louis Model replied coldly. "I am sure everything on the front is tuned to the point that you have the liberty to go back to Uriah's Line. Not reporting on any miscreants?"

"Still reporting, Lord Model. Discipline maintains the army. Not the other way around. We are still forcing assassins, infiltrators and miscreants down the line. The 1st Company is the Scourge of Orres for many good reasons. We are the hand of justice, graced by Lord Governor Potemnus himself." Maine reported. "To make the men believe in the rules, we have to make sure it begins at the highest echelons. Not the lowest denominator."

"Hmph. And yourself, Maine?"

"The Lord Colonel need only check. I observe every letter of the Primer and the Tactica."

"Would you guarantee your promotion if the Lord Inquisitor was the governing body?"

"Yes." Maine knew he lied. Unlike the Church-boy who either didn't know how or had forgotten the subtleties that come with it, Maine was a perfect actor. He'd practice in front of the mirror everyday saying the most outlandish things, noting every muscle on his face and repeating them until he could convince even himself. "Should the Inquisitor find me wanting, I would gladly subject myself to her chastisement, for the souls of all men are tainted. Its just a matter of how much."

"Quit your lecture, Maine. One day you will fall. And then I will make you pay." Louis climbed back his tank and hurried off. Maine saluted and returned to his vehicle. 

"The man should be glad that his son is not sentenced to walk the company." the Lieutenant Colonel muttered. Forty kilometers back, millions of guardsmen roared on top of their lungs as the guns began firing. Maine seemed to be carefree. He no longer cared about the war. In fact, he no longer cared about anything in particular. Uriah's Line is only manned by a minimal garrison given that the fiery bitch-queen wants every meat soldier she has on her hands. They would die hundreds of thousands, and then the Imperial Archives would document this as the victory of five hundred Ordo Militant warriors over a full xeno garrison. The millions of guardsmen death would be conveniently ignored, and billions of Imperial Credits worth of pension siphoned, redirected and spent for erecting war memorials and decorating personal harems of the Imperial Elite. 

The Trojan stopped at an emptied supply dumps covered with anti-aircraft flak positions and trenches. Maine jumped off the tracked convoy vehicle, closely followed by his attendant storm trooper. Garrison regiments with substandard equipment saluted the elite guards. Maine didn't even bother to salute back. These predatory trash, recruited from the worst of Orres and local adherents to the Crusade, are the worst beings alive to walk this planet. They insult the Guards' uniform. They piss on the fraternity of blood and honor. After close to a year of brutal fighting, Maine had forgotten what honor looked like until today.

Maine eventually arrived at a perimeter defense bunker. There he tossed the storm trooper a few canteen bottles of filtered water and dried rations, a las rifle, some depleted battery cells and a piece of blackened grease cloth which he often used to clean his carapace with. "Beyond these trenches are the occupied territories. This particular stretch has not been mined. But you probably know those parts better than I do." Maine said coldly. "You can recharge the cells by roasting them in fire. Now go, and don't ever let me see you again."

The storm trooper obliged and clambered over the trenches, walking gingerly on the desolated No-Man's-Land. Maine looked on, hoping that she would turn her head and run back for him. She didn't. The Lieutenant Colonel sighed and returned to the front. There is a war going on. And his duty is to fight.

XXX

As always, the penal regiments that were sent forward were cut down by a merciless hail of plasma pulses and beams. The xenos are well dug in. Their defense lines reminded Maine of the guardsmen. They could dig pretty well despite their lighter frame and shorter, smaller limbs. Selection filters at its best. Intact survivors would be retrained as storm troopers. Usually there's none.

"Maul! Maul! Maul!" the men chanted as the Maul slowly turned. _Anvil_ was lifted up by a winch which creaked and groaned like an old man's joints. The twenty tonne holy projectile dwarfed anything that Maine had seen before. It was lowered down the chamber by tens of thousands of pilgrims and guardsmen that had their hands and shoulders torn raw by the crude chains. 

"Fool. Blood makes it slippery and impossible to grasp." Maine cursed. "Are gloves so expensive that we sacrifice good rifle hands for this?" 

"Lieutenant Colonel!" the cyborg Major of the 4th battalion reported. Liutgard seemed to be in high spirits today.

"Any specific reports, Major?"

"Orresian 11th was given the honors of charging the first breach by_Anvil_. The Old Man wants you to take the prima-decas in first." Liutgard grinned, showing off his gold-plated metallic teeth.

"Sure thing." Maine nodded. The Maul fired. The report was a deafening thunder that squeezed the air out of his lungs. Maine could not imagine how the pilgrims who were just at the base of the massive gun, felt. Their hides are probably torn away and incinerated by the fire ball and their lungs crushed by the pressure wave. The bitch-queen would look down on them and name them martyrs. In truth she cared for nothing. She has a personal shield to protect her against the blast. The illiterate and foolish would think she has divine protection.

If the report was deafening, the destruction was spectacular. The twenty tonne _Anvil_ came down on the alien fortifications, blasting the unfortunate xenos to smithereens and lifting hundreds a good distance into the air. Massive chunks of reinforced cement and ceramic plating flew in all directions. The first breach was made. The Maul was given the calming waters as mindless menials caressed their God. It has to rest before creating the second breach.

"Onwards, apostles of the Holy Emperor! Onwards, those of you who carries Faith in his heart! Onwards, the guardians of the Imperium!" March's command for assault spread throughout the field. Hundreds of banners were unfurled. The Orresian 11th charged forth in a cacophony of company level war cries. The Prima-Decas were different. Elite storm troopers advanced with ruthless efficiency with Model's armored companies. Those that the infantry could not destroy, the tanks smashed with their massive demolisher guns. Enemy armor were singled out and reduced to molten slag by the rare Ryza pattern Executioners. Number matters. _War is a measurement of net energy gain. The side that receives more chemical, kinetic and photonic energy than it could give to the other side is the losing side._ Maine himself was amused by this weird statement from the new regimental quartermaster. Most certainly, the massive plasma cannon gave them a great deal of kinetic and photonic energy. 

"Maine! Get your ass into the breach!" Old Man's command came through the vox as Maine tossed away the limp body of a large xeno warrior clad in crude armor. _They're running low on supplies as well, it seems._

"Aye, Lord Colonel. But we would require large caliber support. Enemy fire is pretty dense around here." Nigel said as a plasma beam seared his shoulder carapace. 

"Reinforcements are en route. Don't think I will settle personal issues in the field, Maine. I am not as low as you." 

"I know, Lord Colonel. It was never personal to begin with. Just what the Primer and Tactica demand." Maine observed the overhead Marauders with Lightning and Thunderbolt escorts beginning their ground attack and interdiction sorties. Blitz protocol has started. 

"Lord Commissar Wittsburgh! He has graced our presence!" Lieutenatn Lem Bold said as the chief of the regimental commissar attaché arrived with his tank column. Mainly assault guns and demolishers as well as a dozen Sentinels mounted with bolters and assault cannons. The combined fire mounted against the xenos was pleasingly destructive. The accompanying Trojans and armored quartermasters hurriedly dragged away disabled vehicles to the rear area for repairs. No one can expect to win against the combine might of the Guardsmen. 

"What are you doing? Keeping your head down as the cowards would do? Onwards! Show your Commissar that you are men!" Wittsburgh jumped off his vehicle and drew his command blade, beating a few troopers with the flat of his blade. "Onwards!" The storm troopers obliged and fell in behind the Commissar. Maine cursed under his breath. Priests with attached vox-casts recited the Emperor's own Holy words to cajole the men with dreams of an eternal afterlife in Heavens. Bodies filled the trenches and the tanks simply drove right above the meat bridge. After the a few hours of fighting, the prima-decas made it to the breach, clambering on the blocks of cement and ceramic drowned in the blood of fallen xenos and martyrs alike. Storm troopers advanced in ladders to cover each other, their hell guns blazing and their chainswords spluttering with xeno blood.

"Pray for your false gods! For we shall show them no mercy!" Neusonn Marjory smashed the head of a twitching battlesuit with his massive chainsword. The Omnissiah expired again. _Hammer_ came crashing down after _Anvil_, and created a massive breach within the first inner wall of the xenos' lines. The guards consolidated the first breach as the tank columns barged in, unstoppable in the fury and protected by the Omnissiah. They were followed by the power armored Battle Sisters and Ultramarines. _March timed her intervention well._ The Guards who threw down no less than forty thousand within three hours of battle handed over their bloody gains to the Imperial Elites. Powerful bolter rounds made quick work of the enemy troops, tearing massive holes through armor and flesh with ease. Hidden pillboxes received the grace of powerful flamers that the crazy bitches hauled to the field. Specialized Rhino tanks torched everything that they could reach. Including guardsmen pinned down by enemy fire. Devices from a madman's dungeon were led to the field, and commanded to unleash havoc. Agile servitors with multiple barbed tentacles overflowing with lethal amperage of raw electricity leapt into the fray, killing guardsmen and xenos alike without discrimination. Walkers with chained and tormented figures and massive rotator blades splattered blood and sparks everywhere as they hacked their way through the breach. 

"Sisters! With your Holy Fire and Sword purge the alien from this world!" the leading Palatine in her gilded armor and multiple purity seals was seemingly unfazed by the pulse beams that had hit her repeatedly. Must be some shield of a kind. Nevertheless, numerous guardsmen regarded that as divine, and answered the rallying call of the Militant Order. Sacred standards bearing images of the zombie on the throne of terra was at the fore. It never drooped to the ground. Whenever a sister fell in battle, there was always one to pick it up.

"What are you doing, boy? Do you not feel your blood boiling for martyrdom?" Wittsburgh pointed his saber at Maine's face when he felt that Maine's advance had slowed down.

"Aye, Commissar! I will go wherever you lead!" Maine replied. The 1st company, already reduced to three quarter strength, bit their tongues and lips in the bitterness of the fight and continued to advance. Maine's heart bled as each of them fell for the Zombie that sat on the throne. The second breach point was taken and reinforced as it held out against the desperate xeno counter-charge. Hundreds of thousands of guardsmen clambered over the dead and dying to replace their fallen brethren, dragging and hauling squad operated mortars and auto cannons on their backs. The air was alive with criss-cross lines of las fire. Every step was costly, and still the guardsmen trudged on, urged on by Horatia March and her insane preachers wearing their tall hats and blabbering non-sensical lines from the holy texts.

Wittsburgh was hit on the shoulder when he clambered a top a pile of rubble to have a better look. He cursed the xenos to damnation while trying to overcome the shock of pain. "Forget about me, boy. Go on, or I will shoot you right through the eye." Wittsburgh said through clenched teeth as he grabbed Maine's arm. "And watch out for snipers!"

Maine softly laid the Commissar to a resting position and ordered the prima decas to continue the advance until Model had the entire regiment to stand down and dig. The third breach was created as _Nail_ brought the heavens crashing down on the xenos. But beyond that the xenos has reserved a great deal of firepower. Surtbury's Brigade of the 4th, 5th and 9th regiments died in their hundreds as they made one abortive charge after another. The young Brigadier could not tolerate this, and led the final charge himself, only to discover that Xeno fire does not discriminate by rank. The elite brigade faltered and fell back. The breach was sealed by the wrecks of a dozen Leman Russ, a Baneblade tank and two thousand bodies.

"Guess the 97th company is still kicking." Maine noticed the tattered banners of the Virgin Angel and the Babe. He thought about the Guardsman. The image was badly tarnished when Maine saw him half naked and struggling with his girl. But it made him like the pseudo-idealist Lieutenant even more. He's more human now.

"Incoming, Lieutenant Colonel!" Lem Bold shouted. "The Maul would create a larger breach at this thrice-cursed wall. This time with _Cudgel_!"

"Blast." Maine cursed. Ten guard regiments were too close to the third layer of fortifications. _Cudgel_ smashed into the martyrs of Surtbury's Brigade. The shockwave knocked Maine off his feet. Thousands of men were dazed by the shell shock. Many would be dead in an hour, their lungs having imploded under the tremendous pressure. The Imperial Elite advanced once more, this time with the armored support that the guards had generously provided. They charged past the thousands of the dying and the dead without care or concern, occasionally crushing them below their feet. Not deliberately, of course. But it still made Maine angry. 

"Lord Colonel, petition to advance!" Maine didn't want the Elites to monopolize all the glory while the guards monopolized the dying.

"Denied. Maine, stand your ground!" Model's answer was cold and curt. Maine turned off his vox cast and ran straight for Wittsburgh who was being attended by field medics. Wittsburgh tough constitution allowed him to stand, if only barely. The legendary Essesohn had arrived at the front, his Cadian eyes observing the situation and his bionic replacement of his right arm toyed with the hilt of his sword.

"Lord Commissars! Petition to advance! I want eternity for the guards!" Maine saluted. "I want the annals of Imperial Archives to know that a million of us died in the Crusade. And that we are the first to breach the xeno defenses!"

"Or another badge on your shirt, Lieutenant Colonel?" Essesohn wasn't impressed. "Your regiment is reduced to half strength. Model is your immediate commanding officer. Listen to him. Follow the hierarchy."

"The 97th is still largely intact. I can follow their lead. This is not for vanity, but for the fraternity!" Maine pleaded.

"Very well." Essesohn drew his command sword and activated his vox-cast.. "Proud Men of Orres! This is Commissar Essesohn of Cadia. And I order you to rise! To get back on your feet! To me! Let the Warp take tomorrow. Today we fight as citizens of the Imperium! With your flesh and blood the Imperium built its walls. The Imperium does not forget! You will live for eternity!" Tens of thousands answered Essesohn's call. The bitch-queen can keep her frothing fanatics. The Angels of Death can feel proud about their martial superiority. The Sisters can look down all them as potential heretics and heathens. But no matter what, it's the Guards that marches ever onward at the beck and call of fat nobles and ancient governors.

"ULLA! To Lord Commissar Essesohn!" the guards bellowed. Stoic's Mossbergian vulgarity had became the standard war-cry of Orresian regiments. Every Commissar that received Essesohn's orders drew their blades and led the advance in person. The guardsmen could not have chosen a better time. The xenos had managed to stall the Elite steamroller of flame throwers and bolters. Just as the Palatine and Brother Sergeant were both inclined for a moment of rest and prayer, the Commissars marched forth with their mortal sons, being cut down by plasma beam in their hundreds but remaining unbroken. It shamed the Elites to no end.

"Bless the Guards! True sons of the Emperor!" Brother Sergeant Turge commanded. "Century! Assist our guardsmen brothers! And see to it that they are deserving of our greatest respect!" The Palatine, however, was silent. She had never respected the guards for what they were. But today it was different. She could no longer call them cowards. 

"For the martyrdom of Saint Surtbury! The chosen of Lord March and Virgin son of the Guards!" it was a familiar voice. And soothing to the ear. _The fucking Church-boy._ Maine smiled dryly as he was hit on the chest carapace. He didn't know if it penetrated the armor. He just knew he was out of breath and blacking out. And that's never a good sign.

XXX

Maine could hardly open his eyes. Something had hit his head and caused a swelling. He could only open his eyelids to a small slit. The obnoxiously smooth face of the Guardsman looked down. "Lieutenant Colonel, you're up."

"Just call me Nigel, Church-boy. Or Maine, whichever you prefer." Maine took out a knife and felt the bulge. He then cut a slit across it to drain off the fluid build up. The regimental quartermaster Boyle Young gave him a disinfected bandage that carried the familiar smell of the Orresian halide atmosphere. The pain burnt, but Maine could now fully open his eyes.

"The Isthmus is taken. We will rest the night and hold the strip. The generators would be taken within this week." the Guardsman said with nonchalance. Two inquisitorial storm troopers came in and seized him roughly by his arms. 

"Wait. What are you doing?" Maine sat up immediately, ignoring his broken ribs. "This man is my brother in arms."

"He's wanted by the Ecclesiarch for heresy, Lieutenant Colonel."

"Heresy on what counts?"

"Beatification of the dead without authority. Alluding to Lord March's name without leave. And alluding to the Virgin without theocratic background." the storm trooper answered. To reinforce his statement, a battle sister barged in, half of her face covered with crude bandages and her armor with hand-copied excerpts of the Holy Text, affixed by seals of purity. _Tokens of superstition and insanity._

"Just be glad we have not extended the punishment to those that had heard his infectious ideas, heathens." she said coldly. "Beatification can only be bestowed by the Administorum on Holy Terra itself. Naming an ex-color-sergeant of the guards as a saint insults all the others who deserved their titles just and fair."

_Fuck your lame justice and fairness._ Nigel Maine gritted his teeth. He had sat up too quickly, dislocating one of the broken ribs and bleeding profusely through the bandage. "I suppose there's nothing I could do about it. Well, take care, Church. They might take better care of you than us." Maine laid down again as the medics tore away the bandages and started dressing the wound again. The Guardsman gave a nod before being taken away. Boyle Young's face was less forgiving.

"You think I'm an ingrate, don't you, Major?" Maine said.

"That's right. It's very Nigel. Very Maine." Boyle said as he applied disinfectant spirits on the wound. Maine ignored the burning pain. "Lieutenant Church hoisted you to safety under fire."

"I know. You don't have to tell me that. To be honest, there's nothing I could do. You know it, too." 

"Just in case you forget. You backstabbed Stoic and Henson. You'd probably backstab Church."

"Get this right, quartermaster." Maine's hand shot up and grabbed Boyle by his collar. "I have no need to backstab anyone." 

"Sure. But right now I'm the one with the bandages and scalpel." Young wasn't intimidated at all. "The first company is smashed. The survivors could only form three fighting platoons at most."

"The Commissar gave the order." Maine released his hands and hid his sadness.

"They said you asked him to."

"No shit, Young. If the Commissars do whatever I tell them to you might as well call me Lord Inquisitor Maine. Essesohn was already at the front. The attack will start anyway. Probably to keep the xenos busy while the Elites back down to take a potty break. We will die again in the thousands and give our gains away once more. But today we are immortal. We have bested the Elites and showed them that mortals run this world. Not fanatics or super-engineered half-monsters."

"Aren't you an elite yourself, Storm trooper?"

"You fool yourself. We're all part of the Guards. No one would care if any of us died." Maine said. 

Janus Bring, another sergeant of the 97th company, came into the tactical command. "Well, well. If it isn't the backstabber."

"Remember the hierarchy, Janus. Maine is a Lieutenant Colonel."

"Oh, I am sorry, Lieutenant Colonel backstabber." Janus wasn't that concerned. "Now tell me, Maine. Did you kill the girl? You filthy butcher."

"Could say the same for you, pimp." Maine said. "I have heard of worthy soldiers shedding their own blood to prove their worth. But you and Stoic are the trash that proves their worth by abducting girls."

"Cut the crap, Maine. Did you kill the girl? Where are you hiding her?"

"She's an assassin. I executed her myself."

"Enough, Janus. Leave us." Boyle Young pointed the door to Janus who then gave Maine an undercity salute before leaving tactical command. Maine nodded and saluted back. "None of us in the 97th held a decent impression of you." Young shook his head. 

"It's natural. I'm just better than all of you put together. Maybe the Guardsman could measure up, but just by a bit."

"You're an asshole."

"I know, Major Young. I have a question for you, too. Why did he ask you to treat me?"

"You guessed?"

"Guessing is for retards, Major."

"To tell you the truth, the Guardsman didn't ask for that favor. Reeve Stoic did. Your ex-Major. We all regarded him as our Major. You backstabbed him, and this is how he repays it." Boyle could scarcely contain his anger.

"Maybe I'm not as smart as I would like to think sometimes. I give too much intelligence to those around me and neglect the factor of erroneous self-sacrifice." Maine didn't seem to care. Deep down, though, it felt as though his heart was being cauterized. _Fuck you, Stoic. Fuck you. _

XXX

Maine got himself back into the midst of it by the second day. Unfortunately, there was no news from the Guardsman. He's probably as good as gone. Church's 97th weren't excellent soldiers, but at least they knew their guns and parts, and fought smart as a team. A testament to his semi-adequate leadership qualities. Liutgard in his modified command Chimera laden with vox-devices pulled over. The Major of the 4th battalion looked down on his superior. "Dammit! Lieutenant Colonel, why are you on foot?"

"Force of habit, Gold-teeth." Maine retorted as the Leman Russ thundered across them, discharging . The men clambered over the trenches littered with dead xenos, las rifles blazing. "The first battalion is too depleted. It's good that you showed up. Model's idea I suppose." 

"Who else could it be? Say, that is a large xeno. Almost man-sized." Liutgard pointed at a body with his saber. Maine looked at the crude helmet and carapace plates. He also noticed the five fingered hand.

"This ain't a fucking xeno." Maine kicked the helmet away to reveal a dead man's face. "It's a human adherent to xeno-faith." 

"Curses." Liutgard said. "If they have more of these traitors we would be in a difficult situation."

"I think we are already in a very difficult situation." Maine clambered on top of the Chimera and tuned his auspex. The generator perimeter was a blasted zone of shell craters and the dead. The xeno defenses were holding up against the might of Man. It's projected to break by the night. The generators would be seized. Planetary defenses would fall into the hands of the Guards. The Holy Fleet would then proceed to orbit and begin their infamous unrestricted bombardment support. 

"Kin! Men of Hugh Alpha! Slave for your masters no more! Rise against them! Purge their unholy stain from your world!" Horatia's voice extended across the field above the cracking of gunfire and whines of artillery shells raining down from the sky.

"What is the Lord Inquisitor doing?" Liutgard shook his head. 

"Instigating a riot, I suppose. To our favor." Maine rubbed his fogged up goggles. 

"Do they even speak High Gothic?"

"I've heard she can read your mind and speak to you through it. Probably she's using that right now."

"Probably…hmph. Guns speak louder than words. Ah, another rosy colored dawn to do battle in, Lieutenant Colonel. I will be on my way." Liutgard said. "You coming with me?"

"No." Maine jumped off the Chimera and saluted his subordinate. Humans fighting for the poisonous xeno-philosophy. Now that's a thought. Liutgard sped off in a huff to the front, leaving Maine standing beside the dead human in crude xeno-wargear. The Lieutenant Colonel studied the face carefully. He's only a youth. Church-boy's age, in fact. A las beam has penetrated his simple chest carapace of hardened plasto-fibers. These are only good against small caliber slugs. The Lieutenant Colonel sighed. "Fool. Can't you fight for your own kin?" 

"Maine! Damn you!" the vox by his ear roared. He quickly tuned the volume down to more manageable decibel levels. It's the Old Man. "Retract! Retract! Forget about the generators! It's a sham!"

"Lord Colonel, are you telling me we have lost twenty four thousand men to attack a sham?" Maine was indignant. Something had gone wrong with the upper echelon command.

"Too late for sympathies, Maine. A column is charging forward. They're trying to flank us. Prepare for a fighting withdrawal. Heavy weapons first."

"How many? What is the strength?"

"Beyond counting, Maine. They outnumber us this time."

"Fuck this non-sense. They have to come from somewhere!"

"The underground complex. That's my best guess, Maine. You have at least three hundred thousand incoming. I never knew there were so many of them alien scum." Model spat. 

"Not Xenos, Lord Colonel. They roused their human slaves against us." Maine looked again at the dead boy's face. He could almost make out a grin from the broken lips. "I will pull back everything we can. Long live the Guards! Long live the sons of Orres! Maine out!" The Lieutenant Colonel cursed. _The fucking Maul and catapults. _They messed up the subterranean tremor-based surveillance that the Orresian guards used to predict enemy troop movements. The very grounds trembled once more, not from the Emperor's guns, but from the boots of enemies more numerous than the grains of sand on the beach. 

"Do you not fear the judgment of the Emperor! Abandon your heretical faith or perish with your alien masters!" Horatia March's voice felt like an annoying buzz in Maine's ears. _All thanks to your wanton massacres, bitch, we have hundreds of millions of ready and willing manpower for the xenos._ A crawling tide of men and machines marched towards the guards. The guardsmen didn't panic. They began to redirect their artillery against this well-organized mob. Maine threw himself down as the whine of incoming shells screamed across the sky.

"Goodbye, Liutgard." the shells completely smashed the 4th battalion and threw it in disarray. Whatever that's left of the xeno elite army in the fake generator complex countercharged the guards despite the numerical disparity. Infiltrators with powerful short-range large caliber plasma blasters tore apart armored vehicles and Sentinel walkers. More battlesuits joined the fray as the aliens threw their last reserves in.

"_Ta'lisser yon'layis sinatla! Gue'vera khas uil'at!"_ the battlecry of the xenos blared and deafened the guardsmen. The Imperial guards braced themselves as they formed an overlapping defense line. Priests and deacons weaved lies from their holy texts, coaxing the guards to die in the Emperor's Name. The soldiers fired their las rifles with impunity, peeling away layers and layers of xeno-adherents and warrior slaves. The anti-Imperialist locals pushed their way onwards, blinded by their treasonous loyalties.

"For the Innocents! For the Great Unity! The Helpers of Por'Kais will render your superstitions silent!" the authoritative female voice called out. _I wonder how this bitch looks like. _The Guards were unrelenting in their defense. The last line fell as the heavy bolters ripped them apart. _Our captured brethren. _Maine noted their uniforms and badges. So this is how they used captured guardsmen – as meat shields. As the smoke cleared, an entire battalion of unscathed locals marched forth in assault formations, armed to the teeth with xeno gear – plasma rifles and large waist-mounted rotary-cannons that the xenos themselves would have never been able to lift. The response was deadly. They fired in ranks, allowing their sub-standard plasma guns to cool and recharge. Dense plasma beams seared holes through men and the defense works alike. The imperial line will be cut to pieces, pocketed and systematically annihilated. Standard Assault protocol detailed in the Tactica Imperium. Maine crawled up, both his ears bleeding from the shockwave. Enemy artillery had started bombarding the rear lines. Air sorties were launched in desperation to relieve the men that covered the general retreat. Formations of Lightnings and Thunderbolts were met by furious anti-aircraft fire and crude rockets that trailed thick gray smoke. Dozens of aircrafts were hit and spiraled out of control. Some pilots ejected, only to be ripped apart by the vengeful anti-aircraft artillery that gave no quarter.

"Prima-decas and the 4th battalion, this is Lieutenant Colonel Nigel Maine speaking. Pull back to March's fortifications."

"Dammit!" Janus Bring was the nominal commander after his Lieutenant was removed. "We got too many wounded here. Their plasma beams are just as bad!"

"Leave the wounded. We honor them later. Model gave the orders to pull back at all costs."

"Fuck you, Maine."

"Sure, temporary Lieutenant. Fuck me. Just don't blame yourself too hard when Church finds out that your ineptitude caused the entire company their lives." Maine switched off the vox. He didn't have the time or inclination to argue with a disgruntled subordinate. 

"For the Great Unity! For our innocent dead!" the adherents charged, blasting their way through the broken guardsmen, melting before their fury. "For the Ethereal Siu'Zan!"

"Fuck this! Every man for himself!" Some coward had broken his pact of honor and clambered out of the trench. He was cut down by a las beam. It was the first time someone had his spirit broken in the 11th regiment over the entire course of this Crusade. Maine knew that the battle in the Isthmus is over. The first wave of Crusaders would be crushed. It's only a matter time and deaths. 

"Good job, Maine." Lord Commissar Wittsburgh stood beside the Lieutenant Colonel, betraying nothing of his earlier wounding. He congratulated Maine for executing the coward. "Leave this job to the Commissars next time." Maine looked at the dead soldier he just killed, and sheathed his pistol. _I just executed the most honest man on the field. This is fucking bullshit._


	15. Horatia's Martyrdom

Chapter 015

The Guardsman shook and panted violently as they injected a full tenth liter syringe full of psychoactive narcotics into his venous flow.

"Make haste, Medici! Lord March wants every fighting man to cover the retreat!" the voice was female. The Guardsman tried to gain focus as his iris muscles fought against him, allowing too much light to reach his retina and searing his retinal tissues. He tried to speak, but could manage bestial grunts.

"It would be done immediately. We just need to imprint the command word and install the Pacifier." a senior Medicus said as she pulled out the syringe. An assistant handed her a set of smaller ones, each containing a small volume of viscous fluid. One by one she plunged the hard needles into the Guardsman's temples. White hot pain shot throughout his brain and then soothed his senses to the point of complete numbness.

"Why….why?" the Guardsman have even lost the ability to form complete sentences. His tongue felt like a piece of dead meat in his mouth.

"Feel blessed that you could sacrifice your flesh to protect the Emperor's faithful, heretic!" a Battle Sister shot out before turning to the other diligently working Medici. "We can't wait for the Pacifiers. Keep them restrained in the cages. We need them by the Lord Inquisitor's side right now! Administer the combat stimms on the field!"

"No! My sister! That would be too dangerous! They could tear themselves out!" the senior Medicus was against the suggestion.

"Nothing's more important than the life of the Lord Inquisitor herself!" the battle sister grabbed the Medicus by her face. "Listen to me, little Surgeon, Lord March has decided to cover our retreat with her own life. My life belongs to the Lord Inquisitor and I am choosing to defend her until this mortal shell is destroyed by the traitors on this planet."

A series of explosion shook the place. The suspended incandescent bulbs swung like a pendulum and flickered. The battle sister released her grip, leaving the Hospitaller to her pain. "Menials, move the penitent ones to the loading deck. Faster!" One of the insane man-beast shot his arm out and grabbed a servitor that got within his reach, smashing it against the steel bars repeatedly. The rest were intimidated by the nature of their cargos. "Why aren't you moving? Get on with it! You there, calm that one down!" the battle sister shouted. One of the medicus injected the man-beast with another tenth-liter of depressants. The dead servitor was released as the caged creature succumbed to the drowsing effects.

The natural sunlight pierced into the Guardsman's eyes as the lift elevated hundreds of cages to ground surface. There the servitors and menials hauled them onto consecrated Rhino transporters. His visions sharpened as his irises managed to regain focus. The contents of the boxes were terrifying. It reminded him of the monstrosities he had fought in Hive 15 undercity. Amalgams of man and machine complete with barbed tips on chains and other crude melee weapons. Half of them had their arms replaced by steel cords and flails. Most of their musculature was replaced by thick hydraulics and tensile fibers. Spiked helmets with slits for eyeholes were nailed onto their heads. These are the Arco-Flagellants that the repentant heretics were turned into. The Guardsman feared the worst. He looked at his arms. The vision blurred as the irises strained to readjust the pupil aperture. Two hands and ten fingers. It still looks alright.

"Beast, quit your struggling!" the battle sister grabbed an electrical prod and plunged into a cage that held a wildly flailing man that bashed his head and arms against the rusty bars. The powerful electric sent violent tremors throughout his body and made him lose control of his bowels. It was unsightly. The Battle Sister was herself disgusted and executed him with a bolter "This one's too dangerous to be unleashed." she came up with a lame excuse.

"Load! Load them up!" other battle sisters hurried the menials. "We will be late for the Hour of Reckoning!" If they had whips they would be using them without qualms. The Guardsman's head and mind swam through a thick marsh of noise and horrendous images. The moans of dying men brought back from the front were mixed with the fireballs and explosions that blossomed in their hundreds. Soldiers knelt and prayed as the Ordo Militant and their special cargo sped past at the top speed of the transporters.

Lord Inquisitor Horatia March never looked better. She had gotten off her seat besides the Maul, and had donned her close-fitting powered armor covered with rich engravings. Her mighty helmet with its flamboyant plumage could be seen above the multitude of men that milled about her. The Maul, cast from the blood of ten thousand martyrs, was already cracked from over-use. The Guardsman could scarcely make out the features of March. Her face shone like the very star of the Vermandois Core.

"The penitent ones are here, Lord Inquisitor!" the battle sister reported.

"I see that some of them didn't even have time for outfitting." Lord March pointed her rapier at the Guardsman.

"Holy Mater, We hardly have enough combat stimms for all of them." the senior Medicus explained her situation.

"No matter. Join up with your Palatine. Gracefinn needs all the soldiers we can spare."

"At once, Lord Inquisitor. May the Emperor bless us with victory today." the battle sisters echoed.

"Very good. Young sister Constance, do not fear nor falter, for in death do we attain eternity with our Emperor." the Inquisitor took hold of a battle sister's hands and soothed her with a soft gentle voice. It made her fall onto her knees and cry.

"Lord Inquisitor, we could cover your retreat. Please don't throw your Holy Self before these heretics and traitors!"

"Do not question the Inquisition nor bar its path!" March's tone turned authoritative again. Her songster attendants betrayed no emotion. They closed their palms and began singing a battle hymn. "Release those in penance. Allow them to redeem their sins!"

The cage was opened as the Guardsman was dragged out unceremoniously, still lethargic and half-dazed. A gigantic Eviscerator was given to him. Nails were driven through his hands and riveted to the handle. There was no pain, just senses of exhilaration. Bandages bound his hands to the handle. A servitor turned the rotary motor on, sending tremors throughout the Guardman's entire body as the weapon groaned and belched. It was a heavy weapon, and the Guardsman could scarcely lift it.

Horatia March herself mounted a robotic walker. She sat on it cross-legged, full of her sense of superiority and ravishing beauty. The walker began its march with the Inquisitor's entourage. Penitent Ones were led in chains to the front by automated servitors with squad-level automatic weapons affixed to their torsos, shoulders or arms. Guards who were stupid enough to flee from the enemy onslaught before the Holy Entourage were brutally gunned down. The rest got back to their senses. "Hail Lord March! Hail Lord March! Protector and Mother of the Guards!" they shouted in desperation and hope.

"The Inquisition commands you to die! Die! Die knowing that you have at least attempted to fulfill your duty! Die knowing that you never buckled under the heretics! Die as the sons of the Imperium and sons of the Emperor himself!" March has charged her declaration with her innate psychic abilities. The breaking Guards were driven into a bloodlust and sense of invincibility. Commissars and penal guardsmen alike countercharged the xeno-adherents, forcing them out of a trench they just captured. March's personal appearance on the field had halted the enemy's rolling advance. The Ultramarines and Sisters of Battle with armored support managed to seal off a pocket. Close to a thousand xeno-adherents are trapped in the ruins of a command complex, exposed and ripe for slaughter.

"No mercy! Kill them all!" the Sister Palatine commanded. The battle sisters charged, only to be pinned down by the dense hail of plasma beams and the occasional photon grenade that wreaked havoc on the light amplifying auspex.

"Unleash the Penitent Ones and have them spearhead the charge!" March commanded. Her walker was the recipient of numerous plasma beams. Yet the fire never made it through her personal shielding. The walker's mounted assault gun poured a deluge of ultra-dense bullets into the crowd, shooting off limbs and tearing off chunks of torso. The Guardsman felt a sharp pain as an attendant Medicus jammed a syringe full of dark red fluid directly into his shoulder. The pain woke up from his stupor which then began to turn into a sense of battle ecstasy. The Eviscerator became an extension of his arm. Again the red mist filled his vision, and everything slowed down to a mysterious crawl. _Death and ruin!_ The Guardsmen danced across the field, ignoring the chaos around him and cleaving apart anyone, including fellow guards, who stood in his way.

_Wake up._ The Guardsman disregarded that voice. He sank the Eviscerator into an adherent that had foolishly dropped his weapon in fear. The victim opened his mouth and screamed in pain as the rotary blades tore his body in two from the shoulder to the waist. The Guardsman opened his mouth and laughed as blood and innards spluttered onto his face and arms. He continued the rampage with the rest of his compatriots. They are the purest in form and faith. They no longer feel pain, and no longer cared for the sin known as life. Their duty is to kill and brutalize everything in their path, and seek repentance as martyrs of the Holy Emperor.

_Wake up! _The Guardsman spun around to look for that voice when everything around him was dead. He noticed that a stray shot had penetrated his torso. It's not painful, and the bleeding was being staunched by the fibroblastic cells hyper-activated by the combat stimulant. He laughed at his invincibility. _Charge! Charge! To death and ruin! _March's powerful psychic commands hammered repeatedly, drowning the voice that contested his lust. The guards gave those in penance a wide berth, allowing them to charge without hindrance. The Guardsman cleaved through his enemies with ease, surprising them with his supernatural speed and strength. One of those brutal swings had dislocated his left shoulder. But it wasn't painful, and mattered nothing to him. He was invincible. And after everything is dead he would turn his blade to March, and ravish her with the others.

_WAKE UP! _It was one of March's songsters. She had appeared right before him, holding the massive chainsword with her delicate hand.

"You…." the Guardsman's mind cleared somewhat. But the beast within him howled and fought against it.

"Fight it. You can do it. I know you can." the songster pleaded. Her pale face filled with sorrow and dread. "Fight it before she knows I am helping you."

"Who? What?" the Guardsman snarled. He saw himself in a pool of blood. The face had turned into a twisted version of himself that was barely recognizable. "You…I will kill you and ravish your flesh for showing me this!"

"No! Please! You spoke to me. Our songs were one. You must be here, somewhere!" the songster tore open her robe to reveal her own burning aquila against her pale smooth breasts. "Please, save yourself! Or you'll be lost forever!"

The Guardsman shook as the aquila was placed to his forehead. The red mist began to retract, and unimaginable pain began to overwhelm his senses. "Psy…Psyker…"

"Sanctioned by the words of Father Emperor, my love. I have betrayed Lord Horatia March for you. May the Emperor have mercy on my sins. Farewell, Guardsman." The songster smiled as cauterized holes left by plasma beams began to appear all over her body. She gave the Guardsman a kiss to the lips and disappeared.

"No…what is your name?" the Guardsman asked. March's robotic walker walked right past him with her Ordo Militant and Astartes support. Most of the Penitent Ones were dead. They have served their purpose to shock the adherents into falling back. The bravest of the Guards would seize this opportunity to form the rearguard, allowing the main body to retreat. The Guardsmen tried to move his arms and legs to see what he had managed to break through his maniacal rampage. A few torn muscle, dislocated shoulder and broken ribs are what he found so far. The Eviscerator was stuck in a xeno battlesuit, choking and dying as the power cells failed. The Guardsman used his teeth to tear apart the bandage. It was an arduous work that took forever. Fortunately, soldiers that went past avoided him like plague.

The bandages came free, but the nails were harder to deal with. Gritting his teeth and biting down hard on the bandages he held in his mouth, the hands were torn free from the handle. Fortunately the residual effects of the combat stimm were still there, or the pain would have made him pass out. Drenched in a mixture of his own blood and that of his enemies, the Guardsman limped across the battlefield to March's direction. He wanted to see what she was up to.

It would seem that the very heavens itself was lighting up. Bursts of bright explosions could be seen even in the daylight. Hundreds of objects seemed to rain down from the atmosphere with fiery reentry trails behind them. The Guardsman instinctively knew that even the Fleet was in trouble. Most of the guards were marching off to Uriah's Line. Uriah's theater command, however, still have its colors flying at the breach points created by the Maul.

"Get up! Soldier!" a storm trooper pulled him up. "Fucking lost your rifle, eh? Here's a spare one for you."

"You're banged up pretty bad. And even lost your shirt in the process." another soldier joked.

"Which way are you going?" the Guardsman asked.

"Martyrdom!" the storm trooper grinned. "Death by Lord March's side. Eternal glory to the 3rd Orresian!"

"Quit talking. Let's go and do the dying and killing!" the other soldier grunted. "Come with us! March's fighting on foot with her breasts bared. That's what they're saying!"

"Aye! For Lord March and the Emperor! For our Virgin Mater!" the soldiers dragged the Guardsman along, walking across bodies of xeno adherents and guardsmen alike. The breach point was even worse than how the Guardsman remembered it. It was the guards turn to try and seal the breach. Uriah's squad of fifteen Baneblades and nearly a hundred fifty battle tanks held the line as the guardsmen along with Ultramarines and Sisters of Battle fought against the relentless tide of adherents.

Lord March, however, was not on foot, nor was she half naked. She's still aloft her mighty walker, blasting away at the enemies wildly as servitors reloaded and cooled the guns for her. Her red lips mouthed prayers as the deft fingers ran through holy rosary beads. For nearly two centuries in the inquisition she had kept the faith in the eastern fringe worlds, slaying millions in her name to safe guard billions others. This time it would be no different. She would endure and triumph, and add another dreadful repute to her list of names.

Suicidal adherents in stealth suits and tactical grade explosives managed to crawl under the unforgiving fire and reached the guards' armored defenses. It was an assassination mission. Before the Guardsman could fire, the adherents got up and charged. Two of them were immediately put down by bolters. The last one managed to avoid the most lethal fires and slid himself under the belly of Uriah's super-heavy battle tank. The explosion was surprisingly big for a relatively small payload, blowing the turret right off the body and splitting the hull into two. The Commissars immediately opened fire against their own charges, preventing a general rout from breaking loose.

"For Uriah Minc! Martyr of the Crusade!" the storm troopers around the Guardsman shouted and charged. The Guardsman stood back with his soiled rifle and broken body, looking at the hopelessness of the situation. Horatia March raised her right hand for an instant before continuing with her prayers. Her entourage immediately began to relay a message for the Fleet. A few sections of the line were breached as xeno adherents attempted an assault, capitalizing on the confusion caused by the death of the theater commander. There was only one songster that the Guardsman could see, clad in her pure white robes. She simply closed her palms and eyes as the xeno adherent killed her with a point-blank plasma beam.

"No mercy for the adherents of the Throne! No Mercy for the butchers of Por'Kais! Remember the sacrifice of Ethereal Siu'zan for our sake! Long live the Great Unity!" the adherents shouted in crude Gothic heavily laced with local accent. The sisters of battle and space marines began to form a defensive perimeter circle around the Inquisitor as more sections were being overrun.

Once more the skies lit up with fiery explosions. Cruder designs of xeno atmospheric craft seemed to be engaging something in the air. The explosion was terrifying, the brightness even contested that of the sun. The Guardsman sat down heavily. _They want to destroy the entire planet. The madness of Horatia March!_ But it would seem that March was the one that's most frustrated. She sat up on her walker as a fleet of xeno atmospheric warships entered the atmosphere, dropping off bright red colored battlesuits, skimmer tanks and landing craft from which the elite xeno warriors poured forth, firing by the rank and systematically overwhelming the entourage that's defending the icon of the Vermandois Crusade.

"_Gue'vera! Khas Uil'at!"_ the xenos bellowed. _"Tau'va dai'tyon vio'el!" _The battlesuits and skimmer tanks worked in tandem, their ruthless efficiency even exceeding that of the xeno elites garrisoned on this world. A swarm of at least a dozen heavy missiles smashed into the defense perimeter. It should have destroyed the defenders outright, but the powerful psychic shield held true. The defenders' mirth was not to last. The fury of the powerful plasma missiles was too much for the Inquisitor and left her reeling. Her body grew limp, having over-expended her vitality to protect those that were supposed to be defending her. She drew her rapier with her final strength and pointed at the most striking man-sized battlesuit, blood red in color and bearing the iconic shield of the xeno elite.

"Remember that millions of the Emperor's faithful have fallen on this world! And pray for vengeance befitting of these traitors and aliens!" March gave her final command before her mighty helmet drooped down and the plumage lost its shine. Her mortal shell had expired. With that came a massive outpouring of psychic energy that flooded the entire field. The sisters of battle and space marines were hardly affected. They charged in the direction that the Inquisitor had pointed to with her rapier before her passing. The Guardsman, however, was met by a massive female Dominion with the likeness of Horatia March. She held her hand outstretched but retracted it when the Guardsman instinctively reached for it.

_You! No, it cannot be?_ Her glowing eyes betrayed bewilderment and she bellowed in desperation. _Call to Justice! Or Trust! He must help me! Make my avatar manifest! I will purge this world of those that dare trespass on all that is right!_

The Guardsman was visibly shaken. The imposing authoritarian nature of March's psychic ego was terrifying, and yet her face was even more beautiful than her mortal one. It reminded him of the songster that wrenched him from permanent madness.

_No. Accept Judgment's defeat in the face of Vengeance. You were blind. The Ouliam Shi's bearer would not assist you nor speak to you. _A disconcerting voice recited the unanimous decision of another separate world.

March's psychic avatar went down on her knees and wailed as pieces of her armor began to fell apart and dissolve. _Why? Why? I have saved more lives than you could ever count and this is how you treat me?_

_Trouble the mortals no more with your failings, Judgment. Return to your rightful post. You can't change the materium. None of us can. _The avatar was stripped down to a whimpering little girl no older than ten who disappeared in a flash as she buried her teary face in her knees.

XXX

The Guardsman was woken up by a jolt. The battle hardened face of Brother Sergeant Turge looked at him while his hands held the Guardsman's arm with a crushing grip.

"Tell me! Tell me before I pass before the Judgment of our Emperor! What are you?" Turge asked. The Guardsman looked around. It seemed to be the ruins of the Maul, broken to countless pieces that lay scattered around the field along with the bodies of the pilgrims and menials that kept it operational. It must have tried firing again despite the crack, and the whole weapon blew itself to pieces along with everyone around it.

"I don't understand what you're asking, Brother Turge." the Guardsman trembled.

"Everything is connected. The defeat of the undercity rogue psyker, the invasion of warp beings and the death of the Lord Inquisitor! Tell me! What are you!" the space marine sergeant bellowed. "How did you drag me across the field with only your pathetic and unaided mortal shell?"

"No! That's impossible." the Guardsman stammered._ It should be the other way around!_ The marine stared hard. He could feel once more the intrusive probing, this time stronger and more desperate.

"Yes. I know it was you all along…but why? And how?" the space marine's grip loosened. His eyes turned soft as though centuries of memories swam back into his weary mind. "Go in peace, Guardsman. The Emperor has blessed you beyond your imagination. My duty in this universe is done. I will contemplate of His sacrifice."

"Tell me, Brother Turge! Tell me too, what did you find and see inside my mind? I don't even know the answers myself!" the Guardsman grabbed the space marine's armored hands. It's already lifeless. The Brother Sergeant died with his eyes closed and a smile on his lips. He's dead. The Guardsman spent some time burying the superhuman soldier and broke down emotionally. Only after a few hours did he regain his composure and clambered up the broken firing chamber of the Maul. The desolation of war stretched as far as he could see. Hundreds of thousands of men and alien alike lay dead. Their bodies are strewn across the field for the buzzards to feast on. Wrecks of tanks, planes and guns stood silent, the remains of their operators and crew were either charred or were reduced to tiny smithereens that the armies have trampled into the soft earth.

Thunderous roar of artillery guns and whines of crude rocket barrages that the xeno adherents operated could be heard at a distance. The Guardsman walked carefully amongst the dead. There were no dying men. Everything was as dead as stone except for the carrion-feasters. Nearly every serviceable weapon was also picked clean. Xeno-adherents are now probably armed with a few hundred thousand more las rifles and pistols. Being an expert scavenger, the Guardsman managed to secure a relatively undamaged plasma pistol he found under a dead xeno. He was partly surprised that it escaped notice. He also managed to find a few compatible power cells of xeno design, and tried firing a few shots to make sure. With a backpack stuffed full of rations and water canteens, the Guardsman made his trek towards Uriah's Line.

Uriah's Line no longer flew the color of the Imperial Guards. Instead the Iconic design of xeno banners fluttered in the air. The Guardsman lay still in a crater, hiding himself amongst the rotting corpses and surveying the fortifications with an auspex. The smell was disturbing, but he had smelt worse in the undercity. Teams of adherents were disinfecting the piles of bodies that the guards left behind when they assaulted their own defenses in a bid to break loose. And somehow they managed to do so. A quick estimate put the losses of the battle at about fifty thousand. The Guardsman felt relieved that most of his brother in arms made it out of the Isthmus trap. As for Iariss, the Guardsman could only bleed tears of sorrow for a wanting that would never take place. He left the crater and clambered down a steep hill, using only his instincts and confused memories to find a hiding place.

The hideout was an underwater cave that he and Janus supposedly swam in to get some large mollusks the size of pontic melons. Janus wasn't making things up. The mollusks were huge, and the bivalve shells were thick and massive. Wanting to supplement the tasteless rations, the Guardsman spent a great deal of time trying to pry open the impossibly strong creature until he finally figured he should roast the creature in its own shell. He started a small fire on the beach and listened to the sea waves. The night sky blinked with a billion stars, making the Guardsman wonder about the myriad worlds that he had only heard and read but never seen. The Imperium of Man, a galactic organization of billions of worlds and trillions of faithful. _But we failed them. We lost._

The smell of mollusk boiling in its own juices made the Guardsman's stomach growl with anticipation. He burnt his fingers as he tried to open the shell. Disappointingly it was mostly empty space. The real cooked flesh was scarcely larger than his fist. He wolfed the entire thing down in three mouthfuls, and carefully drank the salty soup to down the dry rations with. Just before he could discard the ration wrapping into the fire, a las rifle was cocked right behind his back.

"You! Throne Deserter! Throw away your guns! Put your hand behind your head!" it was a woman's voice. Deliberately roughened to sound like a man's. Thanks to Liutgard's training the Guardsman could immediately tell the difference. "Do it! Do it before I shoot a clean hole through your head!"

The Guardsman threw away his plasma pistol and did as told. "Now lie on your belly! You know what, Throne fanatic? You lost! We won! The people of Por'Kais overwhelmed you superstitious lots." the woman hissed as she searched for potential weapons. She threw away another hidden las pistol and a combat knife. The Guardsman cursed under his breath.

"Now get up! Say your final words."

The Guardsman stood up and looked behind. The fire provided enough light for him to see the familiar face of Trance May clad in storm trooper carapace armor.

"You!" the Guardsman said before the vengeful woman butted him with her las rifle, knocking him to the ground.

"Rapist! Scum!" Trance cursed and taunted. "I can keep you safe here? Say that to your ancestors. Or do you have any? Don't worry, zealot. It's going to be over really soon." She took aim at the Guardsman's head and pressed the trigger. The las beam seared his face. The Guardsman's fast reflexes saved his life. Trance took a second shot, only to realize that her batteries had died. Her adversary exploited this advantage quickly, using his superior strength and speed to pick up a combat knife and knock down her encumbered body with a shoulder rush.

"I won't kill you, Trance. And I am sorry for what I did. It was a mistake. This whole thing is a mistake. Now just let me go. Let me find my unit, and I will disappear. We would never need to see each other again." the Guardsman held Trance's neck with his strong grip and pinned her arm down with a combat knife. Trance nodded her head, and the Guardsman loosened his fingers. "Slowly now, any sudden movement and you'd be drowning in your own blood."

It was the Guardsman's turn to search for any weapon she had on her. Trance closed her eyes as his hands groped up and down. _What had gotten into me that day?_ The Guardsman could hardly forgive himself for ever attempting a rape. This time he was fast about it to the point of compromising the necessary thoroughness. When he was done, he got up and tried to disappear into the darkness.

"Wait! Wait!" Trance shouted after him. "Are you a friend of Nigel?" The Guardsman turned his head around. She unfurled the colors of the 1st Company, the multi-tailed scorpion, Scourge of Orres. She had managed to scavenge that from the field.

"Yes. We are brother in arms."

"I want to see him. His corpse at least." Trance betrayed her emotions.

The Guardsman paused. _Nigel Maine would never leave his colors._ "Give up. He's most likely dead."

"I know he isn't. My heart tells me he isn't." Trance's words were saturated with desperation. The Guardsman looked on sadly. Part of him doesn't want to know that Nigel's dead. Or Iariss. Or Janus, Boyle, Chris, Greg, Stoic and even Essesohn. But their fates are largely sealed. The xenos and their adherents would hunt them down and execute every last one of them for the destruction they brought. It's the only way to sate the demands of men, a race bent on memories and vengeance.

"Where did you find the standards?"

"At the foot of Uriah's Line. I have searched. They allowed me to. I didn't find his body."

"Then maybe we have a chance."

Trance had the Guardsman change into the clothes of a dead xeno-adherent and taught him some pass words and sayings that the locals use in their paramilitary organizations. The two passed through the captured forts, looking on at the men huddling together around fires, sharing war stories and polishing their carapaces and plasma rifles. Hardly anyone talked about the Emperor. If they did they only referred to him as a Zombie on the Throne.

"Trance!" a soldier clad in heavy carapace and a waist gimbal walked towards them. This was a young man about the Guardsman's age as well. "What have you here?"

"Someone that lost his unit. Came all the way from the peninsular core city Zun'shi. He doesn't talk much."

"Oh." the soldier turned on his flash light to supplement the fires, and shone it directly at the Guardsman's face, studying it carefully. He almost saw the aquila necklace that the Guardsman wore.

"You don't trust me, Lansu?" Trance asked.

"I do. And too much. You went out looking for revenge for what they did in Yan'el and Wes'ui. They say you got captured by the Throne fanatics." Lansu turned off the flashlight and sheathed it.

"Just a temporary hindrance. I got out fine. I didn't expect the xenos to also arm all of you."

"We had to. We petitioned for it, even slashed our own chests to prove our worth. We have to show our loyalty. We have to show we are ready to bleed and die for the Great Unity and the Greater Good. Otherwise they'll start preying on us after the war." Lansu said with some disappointment. "Remember that the Ethereal Siu'zan had continued to speak on our behalf even on her death bed. Siu'zan has honored us with her life. I honor her sacrifice with mine. The traitors almost got all of us killed. Rumors say that Shas'O Hiyan'zuo have repeatedly called out for outright genocide of the male population if not forced sterilization because of what they did to the caste captives."

"Enough politics, dear brother. We won, and that is the bottom line." Trance said. Lansu nodded and allowed them to pass.

"Wait!" Lansu called out. It almost made the Guardsman jump. "Brother in arms, don't you need something to arm yourself? There's still several million of them out there rampaging around like beasts. Here, take this rifle. It's nearly as good as standard fire caste equipment. Those of the earth will be providing us with better ones in the following campaigns to clean this mess up."

"Well, thank you, Lansu. Where's mine?" Trance said hotly with her arms crossed.

"Don't want you getting into a fire fight, sister." Lansu kept his position and grabbed the Guardsman by his shoulder. "Now listen to me, boy. We are the Mays. We run an entire administrative province of a million men and have connections with every caste. If you allow my sister to break a single nail…"

"Enough. I am older than you, Lansu. It's you who needs minding. We don't run a province. We are merely the bureaucracy that assists in its running by the Great Unity."


	16. Hunt for Nigel Maine

Chapter 016

"So you think I am a whore, don't you?" Sarai's lips brushed against the Guardsman's cheeks. The artificial morning light glinted through the windows onto the Guardsman's spartan chambers. The sheets were thick and rough. It scratched her pampered skin. But she didn't seem to mind.

"What made you think that way?" the Guardsman turned his face and looked at the girl in her ravishing makeup, curling a wisp of her hair with his fingers.

"It's your face. I can read your face." Sarai said. "You're thinking that I am an amoral piece of meat that sells itself to the highest bidder?" Sarai's silvery laughter was so beautiful, even when she was using it as an insult. "You are the scum that keep us down. You are the apprentice to corruption and the reason for our pathetic nature."

"Non-sense." the Guardsman pushed her away. "We do what we can to keep ourselves alive. You should be thankful that we are doing everything we can to keep the undercity alive."

"You get ahead of yourself. Keeping the undercity alive?" Sarai chuckled. "Look at what your father gave me for my services. Hand-carved stones from some rock that I've never seen. He told me that tens of thousands die each year just to bring them to the surface. How grateful should I be?" The girl tore the ear-rings and necklaces off and threw it on the floor.

"Very! You don't know how much we've sacrificed for this!" the Guardsman spat. He got into his inner trousers and crawled on the thick carpeted floor on all fours, groping for the expensive stones. Those were gifts from the interplanetary fringe runner Hyun Wilder for allowing him to skip a tariff. If the whore didn't want it, then it's simply too bad for her. He would sell the stones and use the purples for his own ends.

"So you don't miss your aquila anymore?" Sarai held up a piece of necklace that the Guardsman had always worn, but forgotten all about over the years. "Galerio Mapleson, how can you even tolerate this aquila right on your chest? I thought it would have already burnt your black heart right through. Don't fret like that. I know how men like you weave lies. Tomorrow you would find yourself another that's more subservient."

The Guardsman stared at the tarnished aquila The artificial lighting cast a judgmental shadow of the two headed eagle on his face. He stood up and head straight for the mirror. Sarai sat on the bed in her pale smooth nudity, looking at the reflection that the Guardsman found alien and almost unrecognizable. "How long has it been already? Five years? Eight years?"

"Just a few hours. Don't worry, Galerio. He won't be back. He will have other women to care about."

"I am NOT Galerio Mapleson." the Guardsman swung around. "It's just a foil, a mask of ease. A means to survive." He mashed his hand into the mirror, ignoring the savage cuts the glass shards made. It made Sarai jump with surprise.

"What…what are you doing?" the girl suddenly grew mortally afraid of this seemingly well-behaved youth going off on an erratic tangent.

"Doing the things you told me to." the Guardsman snatched his aquila back and fastened it around his neck. He brushed her cheeks with his bloodied hands and kissed her fully on the lips. "And I will have you want me. That was never a lie."

"Get up. Time to go" the Guardsman was given an unceremonious kick to his legs. The bright rays of Vermandois Core shone through the leaves of the undergrowth. _Been dreaming again._ Trance handed him a cold cereal bun stuffed with seasoned mollusks. The taste was repulsively spicy and heated. He could barely swallow it and choked till his eyes welled up with tears.

"Nua'fy." Trance cursed in xeno tongue. "We will be picking up the pace. Sia'tyn is only half a day away." Both of them huddled in a civilian skimmer. The speed was excellent, but the stability wasn't. Trance seemed to be doing her best to strain the vehicle beyond its maximum endurance. The journey was faster than the Guardsman would have thought. The days of Hugh Alpha was indeed getting shorter. Half a day really meant 3 terran hours at most. And three hours most certainly did not prepare the Guardsman for what he remembered of Sia'tyn, translated into high Gothic as Summer's Vale.

Summer's Vale had changed hands. That was obvious from a few kilometers away. The Xeno reinforcements and their human allies had overrun the place. The battle was already over. Adherents were dousing the bodies with lime powder and heaping them neatly, collecting the war booty and aquila tags by the tonne. Wrecks of tanks and guns were being cleaned up by bulldozers and tracked crane lifters. Tens of thousands of men squatted under the sun with their hands behind their heads. These were the ones that chose to surrender. The Guards destroyed everything they couldn't carry away. And that included every medical facility. The Xenos solved the quandary presented by the wounded that had to be left behind. They handed them over to the locals who thirsted for vengeance and showed no mercy. Humans were the best in killers of other humans.

The Guardsman spied a heap of colors and banners. While Trance was conversing with a xeno elite that clambered out of his battlesuit, the Guardsman snuck away to search for the familiar standard of the virgin and babe.

"Should I reiterate the rules that you are to stay by my side at all times?" Trance cocked her rifle again, standing dangerously close behind him.

"I am sorry." the Guardsman turned around. "I just wanted to search for my company."

"We've won. You're losing. Your command structure is gone. Without fuel your tanks are reduced to useless heaps of steel. Without a figure of command your army has degenerated into the mob they truly are. And your brothers in arms relied on their nurses to form the rearguard. How truly male of them." Trance provided a rundown of the battle in Summer's Vale. A heap of fallen Hospitallers proved her words.

"There are still five million of us at least."

"Five million at most." Trance corrected. "Divided into at least five short sighted cliques and tearing itself up into even smaller pockets of resistance. Shas'o Bai'Khos'un has repeated his tactic in the first breakout from the Isthmus Mouth. He didn't choose to trap you all within a confinement. Instead, he created an opening to allow the desperate foe to stampede through, and then trailed right behind."

The Guardsman knew this general stratagem. A fleeing foe that lacked mobility is far easier to deal with than a desperate foe that dug in. The casualties would have sky rocketed for the Tau if they trapped all five million in a place like Summer's Vale or the Isthmus. Many of the dead bore the trappings of the Imperial Commissariat. Some were definitely killed by their own charges. _Desperation and fear of death drives a man beyond rationality._ "We are resourceful, Trance." the Guardsman provided a weak counter-argument.

"Don't make me laugh. There's nothing for them to live on out there. Bai'Khos'un has turned the subcontinent into a sea of scorched grass and blasted earth. Your brothers would starve and die." Trance sounded angry. She never liked the tactics of the Xeno reinforcements. These are warriors who care less about the other castes. Human adherents to them were just a little than vermin. Trance spent a few more hours going through the listed tags. Unlike the Imperial Guards, the Xenos were well organized to document their victories as well as the name of worthy foes all the way down to the Lieutenant rank. Nigel Maine was not on the list of the dead.

"I'm off. He's probably with them." Trance said without hesitation. "You'd do well to follow me. And don't do anything stupid. I am a member of the Mays. And our ties with all the others are strong."

"I know." the Guardsman was observing his captor and overseer carefully as they walked past the ruins of Summer's Vale. A few of the Hospitallers were not quite dead yet. However, unlike the guards who were executed by the hundreds, the locals tended to the women.

"What are you looking at, soldier?"

"You don't look too pleased with the Xeno general." the Guardsman started off on another question. He had never seen Trance asleep. She was always on the alert, perhaps with the help of psycho-active drugs. But even then cracks had begun to appear due to the extended periods of exhaustion.

"Why should I? He burnt down the entire province that we have built over five generations." Trance hardened her stare, her eyes surrounded by a puffy dark circle. "And I know I shouldn't be mad at the Shas'o. You are the ones that brought the war here, Imperial."

The Guardsman could not find an answer to that. War is horrid. And the Guards were not the best behaved of men. They walked past groups of half-naked xenos practicing some form of sword play. Some muttered things under their breath when they walked past. _Zan-gue'la. _Human vermin.

XXX

The fleeing guardsmen left a trail of dead and wounded. For those that they couldn't carry with them, they provided weapons and ammunition in a vain attempt to slow down the pursuing xenos. Battle weary xeno squads rested in the shadow of imperial vehicle wrecks. A few xeno warriors were showing off tags and badges they looted from the body, testifying their warrior skills to their compatriots. With the day ending, camp fires were being started. A scant few of them were female, and most of them were vehicle pilots and crew. Tasks that didn't require too much muscular strength. In some ways they're similar to humans. Females tend to have a weaker physique.

Trance was accosted by a large patrol of human adherents. She stopped the vehicle and got off, using hand signals to make the Guardsman stay in his seat. "If it wasn't the Jun'zya herself! All respects to our lady. I am sorry about the loss of our Pan'di. We cannot overturn the decision of the Great Unity. Fortunately they didn't burn the Spirit's Gorge as well."

"An entire province, Lo'sai. I don't know what has gotten into the mind of the Shas'o."

"He regards the mass execution of captured Tau as outright treason. We should be glad that we're allowed to fight the Imperials along their side. I heard rumors of human-specific mass destruction weapons. Probably gas or virus. Thanks to the command of Ethereal Siu'zan it was never unleashed."

"Fail-safe devices. They don't trust us at all. And I won't blame them. A few hundred thousand bastards joined the Imperials. My Father executed over a thousand of them in the provincial capital alone. I don't know how many he had to crack down on."

"Who is this that is traveling with you, Jun'zya?" Lo'sai, like Lansu, was skeptical of those that they never met before. Especially ones that seemed rather out of place.

"A Peninsular-citizen. He hardly traveled and hardly talks. Got drafted in the counter-assault when the Imperials fell for the trap."

"Sure looks like a local to me, but carries with him the smell of a halide-soaked bastard. You sure he isn't a masquerading Orresian?"

"Trust me, Lo'sai. If he was, I would have plugged him." Trance reassured her clan retainer. "I'm off to the woods. Patrol around the region. Make sure there are no Imperials trying to hole themselves up. You can expect anything in rough terrain."

"I have every authority to prevent my Jun'zya from entering the Spirit's Gorge. Our ancestral spirits dwell there. It is inviolate. They do not tolerate the living well." Lo'sai opposed her way.

"And maybe that's where the Imperials are escaping to, Lo'sai. I am going to kill every last one of them. Do not bar your Jun'zya. Or the Pan'yon would hear of this."

"I cannot answer to your father…"

"Out of my way, Lo'sai." Trance simply walked out without anymore protest or hindrance. None of the men dared to bar her path.

"Are you sure you know where Nigel is?" the Guardsman asked as they walked through the sparse undergrowth. The canopy was almost a perfect blanket that blotted out what remained of the daylight.

"My heart knows." Trance replied deftly.

"That's not convincing me." the Guardsman wanted Trance to tell him more. Enough to get her distracted.

"The tracker is right under his boots. And I home on it. The device is in here." she tapped the ear-mounted bionics. The Guardsman's ploy had worked. She didn't see the pit-trap before her and fell into it with a yelp. For some reason he jumped forward and seized her arm just in time before she fell onto a bed crude spikes that lay in waiting. It had the works of the guards written all over it.

"Hoist me up, soldier." Trance said exasperatedly as her rifle dropped down into the pit trap. The sides were too slippery and covered with inverse barbs to prevent climbing. The Guardsman hoisted the woman up and suddenly assaulted her before she could regain her breath. He threw a mixture of seasoned mollusk and mud onto her face. Something he had saved for a while. The heavily spiced concoction made her scream in pain. She drew her pistol and fired. The Guardsman kicked the gun out of her hands and knocked her to the ground. Her miniaturized ear-mounted-vox bionic was firmly in his hands.

"I am sorry, Trance. The Guards fight to the last man. You should've killed me when you had the chance. But we know honor, and for that I am grateful. I won't cross your path ever again." the Guardsman smashed the bionic against a tree trunk. Trance cursed in local tongue and got up swinging her knife blindly. But the Guardsman was already gone, winding his way across the sparse undergrowth and hot on the trails of a pocket of Imperial Guards.

A mine was laid across two burnt out trunks. Just a few centimeters more and it would be his death He drew a breath and paced back, trying to use the weak light to see the layout. Before he could even start crawling on his belly, a las bolt seared the ground before him.

"Don't even move, fuck head! Name and unit!" harsh Orresian undercity accent. The Guardsman recognized it at once.

"Janus, it's me!" the Guardsman held up his hands. A few shadows leapt down from the trees and studied him.

"Lieutenant Church-boy! Get on with it, 97th! Get the Lieutenant back to camp. Maine Backstabber would be happy to know about this!" Janus shouted excitedly. A heavily bandaged Reeve Stoic with a looted adherent plasma rifle pulled him up and gave him a grin.

"We did make it, Lieutenant." Stoic chuckled. "Most of us did, at least. Boyle Young's too hurt to move. We left him in a buried pillbox and a heavy bolter." It also meant that Young's pretty much dead.

"The Orresian 11th made it?"

"A modest number did. Lord Colonel General Maine would give you the details if he wants."

"He's a Lord Colonel General now?"

"Self promoted. And he's pretty harsh about discipline." Stoic joked.

"Forget about the Lord Colonel General. We have the Church-boy. He would lead us now." Janus interrupted the conversation. "Fuck Maine. He's inhuman. He and his clique of Scourges."

"Janus, it sometimes takes inhumanity to lead. And in this situation, Maine is the best thing we've got." Stoic defended Nigel Maine. Janus turned around and continued his endless streams of flamboyant undercity curses. The group didn't take the central path. It was too heavily booby-trapped to be safe. Instead they took a detour covered with thick undergrowth and tell-tale markers of tied leaf bundles and specifically heaps of stones.

The camp was at least big enough for a thousand men. Nearly an eighth of the regiment made it, complete with a great number of transport vehicles and heavy weapons. Maine was a gifted organizer. The camp had standard Imperial layout with fortified points on all sides. Albeit decorated with a few hanging bodies. _Those that wouldn't bow to Nigel's supremacy._ The defense made use of the surrounding vegetation to the greatest possible degree. In the large regimental command tent, Nigel Maine sat cross-legged while his Lieutenants and Majors crowded around a large table with crude topographic maps, arguing about the best course of action. Maine's arrogant look wasn't what made the Guardsman furious. It was the commissar's uniform and cap that he wore now.

"Lord Colonel General Maine." Stoic saluted.

"Church. Very nice to see you made it. Death just wouldn't have you, eh?" Maine got up from his seat of stacked boxes and patted the Guardsman on his shoulder. "You looted a dead adherent for this? It doesn't fit you at all."

"No. It was a tight fit, Lord Colonel General."

"Maine would do. You're an exception, Church." Nigel Maine twiddled with a Commissar's saber. The Guardsman stared down at Nigel's boots.

"Something wrong with my boots, Lieutenant?"

"Give it a nice polish, inside and out. It would make you look more like an officer." the Guardsman said. The other men held their breath. They were expecting Nigel to shoot the Guardsman for this insulting remark.

"Will do, Lieutenant." Maine was surprisingly calm. "I conclude that this meeting is over. The xenos wouldn't risk casualties to smoke us out of this forest. And the traitor scum wouldn't come in. Probably for some religious reasons. Return to your posts, ye loyal servants of the Emperor. Tomorrow we head for the crash site." The men got up, saluted and left. Henson Model was amongst them, wearing a soured look on his face.

"Church, don't leave yet. I have something to talk to you about." Nigel Maine mentioned the Guardsman to enter through a flap in the tent that led to his personal spartan compartments. Random regimental banners were kept folded nicely in a box, along with various pieces of captured xeno weaponry, most of it dissected and opened. The Guardsman never knew that Maine was a tinkerer.

"Surprised? Don't be, Church. I have the shot of Michelin Joy, the tinkering skills of Boyle Young and the strength of Chris Bastion. I just don't have quite your skills yet." Nigel Maine quickly reconstructed the xeno rifle and snapped together the pieces like keys and locks. "When I was on that god-damned ship I had the chance to look at the replica that the fuck-headed techpriests made. I have to say I am very disappointed."

"With xeno equipment?"

"With the techpriests. Blabbering morons and superstitious fools. The design was not as complicated as they would have made us believe. It's elegant, Guardsman. A perfect tool to kill. Anyone would fall in love with it." Nigel Maine sat down heavily on another stack of boxes.

"Is that why you brought me here?"

"No. I brought you here because I want to talk with you. Talk to you about Trance." Nigel Maine's light brown eyes stared hard. "I know you tried to rape her, Church. I wouldn't blame you. Abstinence only works for some people. Me, for instance. And then only sometimes." The Lord Colonel General took out a small piece of tracker bug from his pocket.

"You knew it?"

"Yes I do. She planted it in my boots when she thought I was asleep, Church. I never touched her, for your information. Now tell me, where did you meet Trance, and what else did she tell you? What did you do with her? Be honest. Because I am going to shoot Henson tomorrow and I might want to shoot you with him." Maine's eyes looked dangerously inhuman right now.

"She wanted me to find you with her. Doesn't believe that you are dead despite finding the colors of your personal company."

"In many ways I am like you, Church. I just don't die. Now before you go off on your random tangents, let me tell you why I want to talk about Trance. There's no sense for a girl like her to plant a tracking device on a Lieutenant Colonel to undermine us. Amongst the millions of Guardsman, I am nothing. Maybe a bit bigger than you, Church. But face the facts. We're all decimals. We don't count even as a one. That's a privilege reserved for the Astartes and Ordo Militant. We're insects. And insects should do their best and acknowledge the superiority of others."

"So you want to see what she's up to?"

"Even to this moment, Church."

"You let her go. She might want to repay that favor to you."

"Probably. My dead body would probably soothe her a lot. Yours might be better. It would satisfy her desire for a personal vendetta. But that mutual feeling between us might never blossom into anything. I hoped I never had to face it." Maine smashed the tracker between his thumb and index finger. "But it did happen, and I intend to make the best use of it."

"Love?" the word squirmed out of the Guardsman's lips.

"Why else would I let her go for? I could have kept her by my side and use her however and whenever I want. But there's no satisfaction in force, Church. You should know that." Maine looked accusingly at the Guardsman. "I love her. Not ashamed to acknowledge it. But can a monster of a man love? It's an alien feeling at first. But you are the one that gave birth to it. When I saw you trying force yourself on her, I felt something primal. It crawled up my spine and exploded in my brain. My woman. My love. And you are the beast that threatened to devour her. Ironic, isn't it?"

"But you let her go, nonetheless. Why?"

"I represent the predatory beast that is raping her planet, Church. And in many ways I am. No true love that way. If my gesture could make her like me a bit more, then it would be worth it. It didn't, but it's comforting to know that she's looking for me." Maine took off his peaked hat.

"That hat was Wittsburgh's."

"Yes. I carried him personally from Summer's Vale. He had me shoot him in the head. He wouldn't want to drag the regiment down."

"You did?"

"A satisfying job, Church." Maine betrayed no emotions. "The son kills the father figure and takes his role. Now why are you trying to change the topic? I was having a great deal of satisfaction talking about our dear Trance."

"If you want to know anything, Maine, Trance is still alive. I swear in the Emperor's Name."

"Very well. You don't swear often so I take that as a plus. Honestly, Church, I hate your friggin' guts. And I am sure you do, too. And too bad for you I remember everything. Every little thing. Those condescending stares you've been giving me? Yes. They've been giving me a hard time in sleep. And I am sure I will find a way to repay that. In time." Maine sounded as if he's joking.

"Was that supposed to be a joke?"

"If it was then it's very poorly made. You're not even laughing. Keep them guessing, Church. It's how you hold the Guards together. That's how the Imperium does it. And that will be how I do it. Get a wash, and change into something better. I am promoting you to a Major. Here's your badge." Maine handed the Guardsman a small piece of shaped metal. It turned out to be a piece of las rifle furniture. "Sorry about the workmanship."

"What about the Old Man?"

"Louis Model...is dead. His Leman Russ was smashed into more pieces than I could count. Trying to buy time for us all, Church. We are a fraternity. And sometimes the older siblings have to sacrifice themselves."

"And you are still going to kill Henson?"

"Bastard thinks he should inherit the regiment. And half the officers seem to agree with him. Including the prima-decas. Mainly because there's only twenty of us left from the 1st company. Losing the color is another hiccup. But someone did have to get Wittsburgh out of there." Maine sighed. Politics in such dire situations. _The sins of men. _The Guardsman could only laugh in his heart at the moral corruption of the Guards. "Stop looking hurt and get washed. There's plenty of clean water here. We have to head off to the crash site tomorrow."

"Crash site?"

"An Imperial vessel crash landed into the heart of this damning forest more than a few days ago. Hopefully there's some supplies or anything that we could use. To be honest, we're very low on everything. Those Chimeras and tanks would be useless in 10 hours of continuous driving. That's our situation now. Grim, isn't it."

"Then why keep fighting? Why not surrender?"

"Because executing people that talk about surrendering is how I keep my authority amongst the rabble. Don't end up like the bodies hanging outside, Church. I'll hate to string you up." Maine pulled out the odd tufts of hair from his own chin. He seemed to take pleasure from the stinging pain. "And make sure you do change. Burn that ugly piece of adherent uniform. And there's an enforced radio silence. Smash your vox. I don't want those grayskin freaks listening to us talking about Trance, or anyone in general."

XXX

Henson's body dangled and swung with the hot humid breeze. Local flying invertebrates and arthropods had already started to buzz around his graying face. Nigel Maine never shot Henson. He hanged him slowly so that his toes barely touched the ground. The poor contender to leadership struggled for at least three full minutes before biting off his own tongue. Not many grieved for the elitist son of Lord Model. Reeve Stoic, however, was one of them. The veteran had aged so quickly since the onset of the Crusades. He now looked more like a man in his late fifties instead of mid forties. Nigel Maine did not pursue the matter further and gave orders to break camp.

The weary guards trudged through the forest, with Nigel Maine leading on foot. Imperial soldiers still made their advance in ladders, and left a trail of booby traps behind them to help them ward off any would-be pursuers. The Guardsman swatted away tiny diurnal flyers attracted to the scent of sweat. The day after was just as routine until they reached a massive opening in the canopy and incredibly dense undergrowth. The men cursed and hacked at the opportunistic plant life that grew like weeds. Maine didn't even seem to care as he slashed methodologically through the young shoots and shrubs that stood taller than a man. The remains of the Inquisition Ark were strewn across the field. _Concremarus_, the personal seat of the Lord Inquisititor, had broken itself into pieces in the massive crash. Camp was established amidst great excitement about the find. Men worked in teams to strip whatever they could from the vessel. Fortunately most of the supplies were sealed in flame-retardant boxes. There were enough to last the men a few more weeks.

"Fucking retards. A month-long supply for a thousand men. The battleship would undoubtedly have more. They would have done better to crash the battleship onto the surface when they knew they would lose orbital space." Maine cursed. "But no. Some sense of fucking naval honor. Or did some retarded techpriest flip the self-destruct-to-smithereens by mistake?"

"Or perhaps the battleship was too dangerous for the xenos to get their hands on." the Guardsman remnded.

"If they could make a rifle of such high standards, they would undoubtedly have better ships." Maine licked his dry lips. "But it's fortunate that the supplies didn't burn up. It might take us a few days to search through all this mess. We can build a military fort right here. The womenfolk would probably have to be raided."

"What are you planning?"

"An Imperial colony. That's how it is done, Church. Oh, I am sorry, you're only a Major for two days. You'd know more when you climb higher." Maine tapped his head. "And it's all here. I am not just a prima-deca storm trooper, Church. I am something far more special. Groomed to be part of the new generation General Militants."

"Only the aristocracy…"

"The aristocracy can rot in their own ineptitude. The days of privilege and entitlement will be over. At least that was the idea. Potemnus VIII has big plans. Something that will shake itself free from the shackles of superstition and bondages of a lingering theocracy." Maine was so full of himself and his imagined superiority. _The corruption of absolute power. _"We would sit here and build a new nation right under their noses and at the right moment flip them over on this cursed ground. That was how the First Potemnus did it. And that's how I will do it."

Lem Bold came with dire information. "Survivors from the wreck, Lord Colonel General."

"Fantastic." Nigel Maine got off his rock. "Does anyone know?"

"Just the Lord's personal guards so far."

:"Good. Church, why don't you stick around with me and see who these survivors are." Maine checked his plasma pistol and armed it. Lem Bold led them to a small cave. Two small girls and another large eyed maiden huddled together in fright.

"Fucking bitches of the inquisition." Maine muttered under his breath. "Come on out. We're the Guards. We mean no harm." The girls inside made no moves. Maine signaled for a smaller-built soldier clad in a marshal's uniform to climb in. A fourth person was hidden in the shadows, and knocked that soldier to the floor before grabbing his arm and pulling it up against his back. A bolter pistol was pushed against his temple.

"Give us safe passage, guardsman." The voice of the Maid. The Guardsman held his breath. "Or I will blast his head off."

Maine almost laughed. Just because the soldier was wearing a ranking uniform doesn't mean that he is a ranked officer. But nevertheless, he decided to play along. "Alright. So long as you don't do any harm to Lord Marshal Temnik." _The higher the rank, the more useless the soldier is in fighting_. The Guardsman held his breath when the Maid came out with her hostage, clad in tight fitting rags and stripped down pieces of the carapace armor. Maine glanced sideways and saw the naked longing in his eyes. Something primal woke up inside him.

"Now if you'd please, sister." Maine pulled the trigger and fired. The 1st company veteran that was held hostage allowed the beam to sear through his arm and flipped his captor to the ground. Before she could raise her bolt-pistol, Maine kicked the weapon out of her hands. The battle sister was a skilled combatant, and responded to Maine's attack with agility and precision, blocking two consecutive spinning kicks before leaping out to a safe distance to draw her second pistol from its sheath. However, Maine never intended to fight fair. His elite guards were all over the Maid in an instant and held her down quickly. Their eyes gleamed like dogs around a fresh kill. Lem Bold tossed his leader the second bolter pistol.

"Purge. Nice name, bitch. Now Church, you like this woman, don't you?" Maine smiled as he threw those bolt pistols to another grinning 1st company trooper. The smile was evil. The screams of the little girls meant nothing to them. The older maid could only cry as other soldiers dragged her out of the cave and reduced her robes to ripped shreds that dangled from her pale body.

"No. I never knew her."

"No matter. I will take this one right here. Bold, Yanis, Temnik, make sure you grabbed her tight. I am not taking any chances. Each good fellow would each be getting their turn. Church, take the crybabies away. They're too young and tender to see this." Maine already undid his carapace fasterners to expose his corded and hairless upper body, criss-crossed with horrendous scars left from wounds that should have killed him. The Guardsman realized that Nigel Maine was a monster. Perhaps a result of some horrid genetic experimentation gone wrong. Together with the failed Crusade, these might have completely messed him up in the brains.

The battle sister spat at him. Maine took that spittle and licked it with his tongue. "Roses, and I love the taste of that. A reminder, elite. Without your augmentations and powered armor, you're nothing." Maine tore away the crudely strapped carapaces to reveal a body similarly covered in scar from bullet wounds and more questionable abuses. "My, aren't we made for a pair." Men laughed heartily as the Guardsman stood rooted to the ground.

"You and your zombie worshiping cult, burning and exterminating those that you call heretics. Please don't think I am evil, sister. Compared to you, my evils are only a mere decimal. A drop in the ocean of sin that you have made for yourself to drown in. I hardly contribute. Just taking a sip every once in a while." Maine held her face with his powerful hand and kissed her cheeks. "You know, fellows, I tend to say 'fuck the Imperium' under my breath all the time. Today I am making it official."


	17. Maid's Refuge

Chapter 017

The monstrous beast tore open her loin clothes and looked at the scarred tissue. "Now that's disgusting, whore. You won't even feel a thing."

"Since when does the Imperium feel anything, Maine?" the Guardsman replied in a tone colder than dead space. The monster raised its polished head in confusion. The dream avatar descended in full just before Maid Iariss could bite off her own tongue to escape the indignation of being ravished by the male vermins. The surrounding changed into the posh and lavish chambers of Finn Mapleson, the heart of corruption in of an Orresian Hive.

"Now little one, why don't you show our good Hivemaster Greave what this is all about?" Finn's large hands held her waist. The spindly Hivemaster was ugly and naked. His manhood reflected his perverse desires, contradicting the general sense of fear that he wore on his face.

"Finn, you're giving this girl to me?" Greave swallowed his spit, his apple bobbed up and down his bony neck.

"Of course, Greave. And much more. So long as you live up to your part of the bargain." the merchandiser named Harold Goodwing sucked in a jarful of smoke saturated with psychoactive droplets of the Ginj tuber. "This white-skinned sheep is a real pleaser. And a few breath with this would add to the sensation."

The dream avatar worked against Iariss's wishes. She was clad only in translucent sheets that slid and swam across her lithe body like slippery fish. She took a jar of the root and roasted it over alcohol fire. The smell was enticing. The young lady stood up and twined her arms around the Hivemaster. "Just a breath, lord, and you'll be up in paradise."

The old man sheepishly sucked and inhaled, allowing the vapor to saturate his lungs. No one ever chokes on their first try. That was the magic of Ginj. You didn't have to get used to it. It gets used to you and pleases you better than anything else. Greave took another breath, this time greedily. The avatar smiled and led the Hivemaster to a prepared bed.

There was a knock on the door. "Dammit, Harold. One of your men?" Finn cursed.

"I gave them strict orders not to disturb us." Harold shrugged. The door swung open nonetheless. Gudrun Gone, Harold's master captain, stood ashen-faced at the door. "What is it, Gudrun? Are the women and boys not good enough for you?"

Gudrun made no answer. His mouth opened to release a torrent of his blood. Behind him stood the Guardsman. The avatar gasped and closed her mouth with her hands, leaving Greave in his drug-induced dream world.

"Galerio! What by the Warp hell are you doing here?" Finn stood up from his giant couch.

"It's over, Finn. Everything's over." the Guardsman said coldly. "The Emperor's Justice has found you."

Harold Goodwing reached for his illegally modified las pistol. The Guardsman dodged the shot easily, and sent the merchandiser's body flying to the floor, his head severed by a fine blade in the Guardsman's hand. The avatar screamed. _Good riddance. _Iariss thought to herself. Her heart raced as the Guardsman looked straight into her eyes.

"Galerio, stop this madness! What do you want? I will give it to you immediately. Women? Wealth? Power?" Finn knew that the position was reversed. He could no longer command the loyalty of this foster son.

"Galerio is dead, Finn. He never existed. I am only here to take someone away." the Guardsman never turned his head. He went straight for her. He plunged the blade on the thick carpeted floor and took off his large coat to cover her nakedness. "It's over, Sarai. Everything starts from square one. As you have said, we will take nothing from here."

"Brat! Ingrate! Traitor!" Finn Mapleson bellowed. "I rescued you from the streets and gave you the best I could afford. And this is how you repay me?"

"Search in your conscience, Finn. You took an orphan from the street to raise him in the likeness of yourself." the Guardsman took off the necklaces and jewels from her neck and tossed them on the floor. "Sarai, what do you think of this place? Do you like it there?"

"This…this place is drenched with blood." the dream avatar held his hand tightly. "Take me from here, love."

"Bastard! You ruined me for this dirty fucking whore? What have you done? What has gotten into your mind?" Finn screamed with indignation. The wail of sirens of the Hive Arbiters could be heard from a distance. Coming to cleanse their diseased heart.

"Hope. A hope that I could achieve the same without the sacrifice of thousands of others. You should remember this blade. An heirloom gift from the Lord Governor to your ancestor for his great deeds." the Guardsman said. "Give up, Finn. They wouldn't kill you. I had made certain of that. Technically, you have exposed your accounts, detailed every single semi-legal and illegal transaction and declared all wares. Potemnus will be lenient." He took Sarai in his arms and left the chamber. A last pistol report echoed just as he closed the door. The Guardsman rushed back into the room. His foster father had chosen the other way. He would not face justice, even when it was made easy for him. As the blood burst through the cauterized wound and drenched the thick carpet, the Guardsman went down on his knees and sobbed.

"Fool. Fool." the Guardsman closed the dead man's eyes. The arbiters had proceeded to surround the large private compound. The guards were being forcibly disarmed as the Lord Prefect and his entourage hoisted shackles and heavy iron cages to put the criminals in. Iariss looked backed into the Guardsman's eyes. He nodded. _Time to move on, love. _They made their escape through a secret tunnel which went straight for the sewers and connected with the Middle Low. The Guardsman already had breather masks ready.

"Back to square one." the avatar said as the moisture from her breath condensed on the insides of the mask. A sea of hazy atmosphere and buildings covered with grimy halide salts extended as far as she could see.

"Yes." the Guardsman nodded, and adjusted the collar for her. "We will leave this Hive and go somewhere else. Hive 15, maybe. That's far enough."

"Anywhere you lead, love." Iariss felt safe. Safer than anywhere else, including the cloister and the fortified basilicas. The avatar brought the Guardsman back to faith, and he would repay in kind. The dream left her like a veil being lifted from her eyes. Things reverted back to the crag on Hugh Alpha. The troopers still pinned her down as they watched the Guardsman swinging madly at their Lord Colonel General.

"Damn you, Church!" Maine hissed as he dodged the Guardsman's thrust. His opponent was armed with a combat knife while he was half naked. Definitely not a good situation to be in. The worst part was that the Guardsman was fast. Too fast to be human.

Lem Bold leapt up to tackle the Guardsman from behind when he saw an opening. To his horror the Guardsman predicted his entry into the fight and pre-empted his moves, opening a wicked grin across his neck. As Lem Bold tried to stop the spurting blood with his hands, Temnik attacked from another angle. The retaliatory downward stab was caught between the metallic endoskeleton of his bionic arm. The Guardsman didn't seem to be surprised. He clawed Temnik's right eye with his fingers. Temnik clutched his bloody pulp of an eye in surprise. His opponent was merciless. The Guardsman tore out the stuck blade and rammed it up his chin. The trooper twitched as his life leaked out from the lethal wound.

Maine made use of this opportunity to seize a bolt pistol. A glint in the sun caused him to instinctively protect his face with his arm. The thrown knife made a deep gash and the Guardsman was upon him almost immediately. The leader of the Scourges had no chance to aim, and was forced to use the gun as a club. "Someone shoot him! Someone!"

Yanis drew his las pistol and tried to fire. He was easily dispatched with a lethal blow to the neck by Maid Iariss who was no longer restrained. Maine cursed by the Emperor's name as he tried to fend off the frenzied attacks that he never thought was possible. He had seen this before back in the battles in Hive 15. A cultist had hit Church on his head, causing him to strike back at them with a ferocity and speed that was truly terrifying to behold. If only he could call upon that primal rage. But it was too late for Maine. He allowed his own personal vendetta to get in the way. His only chance would be to use his own amorality and ruthlessness to get away from the impossible situation.

Even Iariss was not fast enough against Maine. The depraved soldier grabbed one of the girls and jammed his bolt pistol against the teary faced child. "Stop this madness, Church. You've made your point!" Maine spat. "We're even. And I do kill children. You too, bitch. On the ground! Legs spread!" In his heart he browsed through the million ways to slowly destroy his opponent. The obsession prevented him from seeing Iariss hurling a piece of stone at his head. It shattered to pieces when it smashed against his tough cranium, causing him to reel backwards and release the girl.

The Guardsman picked up a boulder and raised it above his head, intending to crush the beast with it. The dazed Maine raised his gun clumsily and tried to fire. It was a true aim, but nothing came out. The bolt pistols of the Ordo Militant had a gene-specific identifier. No one but the Maid could shoot it. Maine in his arrogance and pomposity had forgotten that fact. The Guardsman grunted as he walked closer to Maine with the boulder. Before he could kill the would-be-rapist, a plasma beam seared through the air and hit him right on the chest. It burnt a clean wound through his lung, causing him to drop the boulder and roll on the ground howling in pain. Iariss screamed.

"Trance! My love! You found me!" Maine laughed like a madman. "Have you come to deliver me from this living hell? No! You can't tame a beast! I know only of death, destruction and suffering!" Iariss wouldn't have any of this. She grabbed the las pistol from Yanis's cold dead hands to finish off the Guardsman's job. But even Death hated Maine. The Guardsman leapt up from the ground and pinned Iariss down A second plasma beam that was meant for her seared him on the back. The Guardsman no longer breathed. Iariss stared in disbelief before she blacked out from the emotional whiplash.

XXX

Maid Iariss was woken up by Gianne and Musille who stared at her with their curious eyes. They clapped their hands and ran off shouting for Voinylle. Iariss studied her surroundings. Not the cave, nor the _Concremarus_. But some tent in some camp. Someone also got her a change of clothing of some local design and make. Iariss got off the bed and ventured out the tent.

"Sister Militant." Voinylle bowed. She was outside doing some menial chores that only servitors should be doing.

"We're in a prisoner camp, I suppose."

"I am afraid so." Voinylle, for many good reasons, was mortally paranoid of other male prisoners. Fortunately, the women were kept in another enclosure, protected by layers of barbed wires and armed adherents. The guards could only ogle and curse like the fox that never got its grapes. Gianne and Musille, however, weren't so disturbed. They would go to the fence and listen to stories and tales from the guardsmen who didn't mind the children. It at least gave them something to do while their judgments were being dictated by the xenos and traitor humans.

"What should we do with these local children?" Iariss asked.

"I don't really know." Voinylle pulled the blanket more tightly around her body, eyes shifting left and right at imagined provocations. "You should get them away from the beasts. They would tear the poor children apart."

Iariss did not know what to do with the Hospitaller's emotional scarring. She tried hugging her to provide some comfort. Voinylle started sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. "Get used to it, Hospitaller. Men are arrogant beasts. It is the reason why we are the ones keeping the faith."

Gianne came running with a bunch of local flora and a crude letter. "For sister Voinylle who is always crying and nice to us." she chirped like a bird. Musille still stood by the fence, allowing a young guardsman to touch her cheeks. Iariss pushed Voinylle away and went straight for the molested girl. She pulled the pervert's whole arm through the fence, tearing strips of his skin off and broke the bones against her knee. Ignoring the agonizing shouts of pain from the unfortunate guardsman, she grabbed Musille's little arm and went back. The other soldiers cursed at the Militant, shouting obscenities and defiling their own faith. _They will all be purged, someday._

"Why did you break his arm? Won't that hurt?" Musille looked at the poor soldier being attended to by his compatriots.

"Because he is a vermin that should be exterminated in an ideal world."

"He told me about younger sisters and brothers that he left behind on Orres. A planet of gold." Musille continued. "Orres is a horrible place. If he could he would have brought them here as well and play with me."

"Forget about that man-beast. You're not going back to the fence." Iariss barked. Musille almost cried. But a few days with Iariss in the cave taught her better. The battle sister was harsh and humorless and her hands were rough and calloused. Iariss did beat the children. _It's the best and only way to keep them on the right path._

Voinylle was trying to hide the letter under her sheets when Iariss barged in. She handed Musille over to the Hospitaller and tore up her sheets to find the letter. Voinylle's face was drained of blood when the Militant read it.

"_Dearest Voinylle,_

_It took me an impossibly long time to seek out your name. The little girl Musille told me. I have been saying this name to myself over and over, thinking of the wonderful sights we have seen and spoilt on our excursion to this paradise world. _

_I could still remember the time when you tended to my broken body and soul. I can never forget about your pure intentions despite my uncultured appearance and crass behavior. But I know that I have abused your care, and used it for the worst. I have seen and done great evil with my eyes and hands, and I am mortally sorry, and aware that there is no recompense for a sinner. I would die a million times and still be unable to repay the damages I have done to the innocents and my own fate in the face of Justice._

_However, fate and the Blessings of our Immortal Emperor kept both of us alive. I cannot begin to describe how happy I was. Despite our bleak situation, all does not seem to be lost. The xenos are allowing the locals that survived our crazed pogroms to identity the perpetrators. Yet many of our brethren went to their deaths willingly, most betrayed signs of relief. Such was the burden on our weak-willed souls, misguided by bloodlust and Lord March's zealotry. Some had ended their own lives. It appeared to be an attractive choice, for I foolishly believed that death solves all problems. But the little girls…they forgave me of what I did to their families, friends and home, maybe out of the ignorant naivety of the innocent children. _

_It was more than I could possibly have or bear. I pray for the salvation of my own dark soul. And I hope you would pray for mine. _

_Seeking forgiveness, as always._

_Bring - Me ever closer to you, love" _

Iariss was enraged. The righteous purge of a planet being derisively named as a "crazed pogrom" by a guardsman that knew less than a sewer rat. Defeatism and self-criminalization. Worst of all, the damned Hospitaller actually wanted to hide this letter and keep it under her bed. Maybe close to her so she can fantasize about this piece of human filth. The Maid tore the letter to pieces and gave Voinylle a solid slap across the face that sent her crashing to the ground. As always, the weak of faith started crying.

"Worthless and useless. Have you forgotten about our Father Emperor already?" Iariss thundered. Voinylle avoided her eyes and cowered in the corner like an abused child. Musille added to the general cacophony with her high pitched wailing. "Tell the baby to shut up before I hit her too."

Even Voinylle reached her boiling point. The Hospitaller quickly grabbed the girl and ran out of the tent, leaving Iariss alone with Gianne whose curious eyes studied everything, even to the depth of one's soul. "Why do you like to beat people, Sister Mili-tan?"

"Militant." Iariss corrected her pronunciation. "Pain is an honest teacher, Musille."

"I am Gianne. Musille is the other one." Gianne corrected.

"Whatever. Get out before I beat you, too."

"Why are you always so angry?" Gianne asked again. Iariss didn't bother to answer. She pointed at the exit flap of the tent. But the obstinate girl was not accustomed to being ordered around. The Maid clenched her hand tightly into a fist, making the joints crack angrily. Gianne flew out like a startled bird. Or at least she pretended to run out. The little girl hid just outside the tent. Her silhouette can still be seen, as was the little face that peered through the flap once in a while and disappearing quickly when Iariss turned around. Iariss gave up and sat down heavily on her hard bed, closing her eyes to contemplate on what to do next. _Something's missing. An empty hole in my soul._

"Prayer would help. If not, then practice your shot." Gracefinn's eternal advice. Having already been disarmed, the Maid could not practice. She knelt down on the ground and prayed for a while. Long enough for the sky to turn dark and glinting with stars. It was a good time for meditation. There were hardly any distraction and she got through twelve chapters of the _Lamentations_. When Iariss opened her eyes she discovered that Gianne was curled on the ground beside her and had fallen asleep. Her knees were also raw and scratched. _This stupid girl imitates everything I am doing._

The prayer did not solve the issue. _Something is still missing. _It had little to do with faith. Iariss tucked Gianne into bed and covered her with a coarse blanket and started an extensive search through her memories. She could not pin point it and every time she thought she was close it always slipped away. She spied the bunch of local floral that Voinylle kept in an empty cassette of autocannon shells. It gave an important clue. But again the memories slipped. Iariss bit her lips and thought harder.

"Why are you so angry all the time?" Gianne woke up all of a sudden and tugged at Iariss's shirt. "Is it because the man who tried to save us didn't get up? Or was it because the bad man got rescued?"

"What?" Iariss's mind hit on something. _Men._ The loose pieces came together and the slippery fish of memory was seized by its tail. _The thrice-cursed Fool and the beast. And someone named Trance. _"Who is Trance? Did you see the person?"

"I don't know. Another lady came and she had so many soldiers with her. She took the bad man and kissed him. She must be a bad person, too. But the man that tried to save us never got up." Gianne tried to reconstruct the scene. Iariss didn't finish listening. She ran out into the night, her heart bleeding with hot blood of vengeance.

"Trance…Maine…I will kill you as the dogs you are." Iariss was halted by a squad of adherent soldiers who aimed their plasma rifles dangerously at her.

"Get back to your place, prisoner." the squad leader ordered. "And we will fire for non-compliance."

Iariss was not intimidated and tensed her legs to charge forward. But her opponent had studied her body language well. A quarter-powered beam seared her shoulder before she could even charge. Other soldiers ran forward and overloaded her nerves with shock prods. They then dragged her paralyzed body into a solitary confinement cage. The long night was mental torture. Iariss was filled with hate. The traitor beast was rescued. _And the fool was dead._ Much to her displeasure, Iariss cried herself to sleep.

XXX

A well dressed woman in military fatigues came in and threw an empty container into the cell. She turned away as Iariss quickly passed her wastes that she had been holding up these few days. "One of the few female fanatics. I thought we killed you all. Think you're so mighty and different from us? You still eat, sleep and defecate like the rest of us. It's the male zealots that worry us most."

Iariss remained silent as the lady ordered other female prisoners to collect the mess. Voinylle was amongst them.

"So you wanted to kill me, I suppose?" the adherent female said.

"You?"

"I am Trance. And you've been screaming for my blood a few days ago." Trance drew her plasma pistol. "There were strong recommendations for your immediate execution. Your fanaticism is intolerable and dangerous to other prisoners. It would reinforce the general mindset of the Tau that we should destroy the prisoners at once."

"You killed him!" Iariss jumped up and slammed herself against the metallic bars and pounded it with her hands. "You killed him!"

"Who?" Trance didn't seem to care. "There were so many dead. And I never thought that the likes of your kind are capable of emotions. You marched up and down the Continental Main and laid a dozen city to waste, not even sparing the youngest babe or the most helpless infirm."

Iariss didn't care for her bloodied fists and palm. She threw herself against the bars like a maniac. _Vengeance, so close and yet unreachable. _Trance smirked as she raised her plasma pistol.

"Zant, Trance May." A well dressed xeno in a utilitarian garb came into the dungeon, its face betraying general disgust at the non-existent sanitary. "Wys mem'lor ya natla." Trance sheathed her pistol and whispered into the xeno's ears. It nodded and whispered something back.

"Luck is on your side, zealot." Trance said. "You are interesting to them. They want to talk to you. Personally, however, I would rather see you strung up."

"The man who almost killed your filthy beast of a lover. What did you do to him?"

"I don't know who you are talking about." Trance motioned her guards forward to drag Iariss out from her cell. The Maid spat at Trance. Trance retaliated with a backhand slap. "Remember your place, Imperial."

"Trance, enough." the xeno said in high gothic. "Your duty is now to escort us. Forgive our human helpers for their brashness. You have killed many of their loved ones, Imperial." Iariss didn't bother to answer. Trance almost said something, but the xeno held her hand. It will do the talking.

"I am sure that you find us disturbing, and our victory hard to acknowledge. But we do not wish outright hostility against one of the most populous and powerful nation in the galaxy." the xeno gave Iariss a piece of clean fabric to wipe her hands and the trickle of blood that ran down the corner of her lips. The Maid continued her rude disregard. The xeno instead motioned Voinylle to help her instead. Iariss glared hard at the wayward Hospitaller. She dared not make any advance.

"I suppose we can return you to somewhere more comfortable so that you may soothe your anger. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ju'sufyin. Who might you be?"

"Your destruction." Iariss would never back. _Especially before aliens._

"Very well. It can be loosely translated into To'thash. That name suits you well, for you burn with fires hotter than that of Vior'la." Ju'sulyin was impossible to anger or insult. "We will move you to a more acceptable and conducive environment for rest."

"There will be no rest till your kind is purged, alien." Iariss tried once again to goad the xeno.

"You cannot make me angry. It is death you seek but it is my prerogative to make sure that does not come to pass." the alien looked as if it's smiling. _Save the smugness for yourself, alien. There will be no mercy when the second and third waves arrive._

XXX

Iariss remained in solitary confinement, though the amenities were definitely much better. Technically she was allowed visitors, but no one came except for the accursed xenos and annoying children. Ju'sufyin gave her whatever it could collect of the Holy Texts. And that also included a useless Uplifting Primer. What goaded Iariss most was Ju'sufyin's avoidance of critical matters. The xeno turned out to be a female, bonded and had three children from the union. Children, motherhood and her husband were all that Ju'sufyin talked about.

One day, however, Ju'sufyin decided to talk about something different. "Do you have friends, Iariss?" the alien found out her name through other means. _Probably the brats or the traitor Voinylle._

"The reward of trust is betrayal. There are no friendships that I have, only sisters of faith that share my devotion to the Emperor." Iariss replied with a deathly tone.

"Is it? Hmm." Ju'sufyin took the Uplifting Primer and began reading it. "Iariss is a common name in the Imperium for females, is it not?"

"Yes. Very common in the Eastern Fringe." That fact made her feel less special.

"There was a wounded guardsman we found at the edge of our helpers' ancestral grove yesterday. Semi-conscious. Recipient of our sniper fire. Yet those wounds have been partially healed. We are somewhat surprised that the shots didn't kill him." Ju'sufyin related their findings. "Iariss seemed to be a very important person to him. But that wouldn't be you, I suppose, given that you have no friends."

"Show me this guardsman!" Iariss burst out. "Show me where he is!"

"Of course, Iariss." Ju'sufyin mentioned her warrior escorts to release Iariss from her cell. "I will help satisfy all your curiosities, especially of this peculiar male."

The group made their way through the open air prison complex. The guards no longer seemed to be in the depression of defeat. Some even looked happy. "These would be released. We would be giving them some land in the planetary frontiers to help us rebuild. And there are way too many widows that need resettling." Ju'sufyin explained. "A most brilliant plan, in fact. Though I am not sure if the widows are willing. But humans are not that different from us, I suppose. We forgive for the Great Unity and Tau'va."

Iariss hardly cared. The Fool was the one that held her heart. "Just show me where this Guardsman is."

"Right, I will walk faster, then." the xeno smiled. _Maybe smiling is an expression of annoyance._ Ju'sufyin took Iariss hands and led her to a medical facility. Stocky xenos and its subsidiary drones were busy unloading and unpacking supplies. The facility was crowded with wounded xeno warriors and some adherents. Most stood up immediately and saluted. But Ju'sufyin motioned them to sit down again.

"Who are you?" Iariss realized that Ju'sufyin might be more than what she seems. And may make a valuable hostage.

"Just a member in the Greater Good, Iariss." Ju'sufyin grinned again. "Sorry about the smell. It's terrible in medical facilities usually."

"I can't smell anything." Iariss said, acknowledging the superb cleanliness of the facility even when compared to Summer's Vale when the Hospitallers were providing care for the guardsmen wounded.

"Oh, it would seem that I have forgotten about that. My father's sister was probably correct. I should spend more time with you and understand you more, and help you understand us." Ju'sufyin arrived before a room flanked by two adherents. They opened the door immediately and saluted.

It was him. On the bed and breathing weakly. Standing next to him was the beast named Maine and his consort. Iariss's head exploded in blind rage. She wanted to leap forward to tackle Maine, but not while the beast was dangerously close to him.

"I am honored to be graced by the presence of an Ethereal." Maine bowed.

"I suppose the Aun has good reasons to bring our prisoner here. Is this guardsman of any interest to her?" Trance asked.

"Yes. Her name is also Iariss. This wounded man may have something to do with her." Ju'sufyin said.

"Of course, Ju'sufyin." Iariss pointed accusingly at Nigel Maine. "The man on the bed saved me from this man-beast who attempted to ravish me with his underlings. Laugh, Trance, at your choice. He will use you and destroy you. It is a beast that you wrap your arms around."

"Don't spit your venom around, sister." Nigel Maine's eyes narrowed. "I am incapable of such depravity. Trance can testify for me."

"And indeed I can." Trance clutched Maine's hand tightly. "By your leave, Aun, I have no intention to stay in the same place with this woman. My guards will guarantee your safety."

"If you please, Trance." Ju'sufyin nodded. "But I prefer privacy." Trance obliged and left with her soldiers. Iariss could hardly believe it. The xeno was exposing itself to her. "I sense aggression in the air, Iariss. Do you hate this man?" The blue grey fingers motioned to the Guardsman on his bed.

"No…I mean, yes. I do." Iariss grabbed a chair and sat down besides the unconscious Guardsman, looking at his worn features and bandaged body.

"Your kind do not deceive well, and surely do not perceive lies easily either." Ju'sufyin said.

"What do you mean?"

"Nigel Maine was lying. But Trance doesn't know it. We Ethereals can smell lies." Ju'sufyin said. "And I am always honored by your truthfulness, Iariss. But I hope you will be truthful once more because I am asking again. Why do I sense excitement when you learned that this man is alive?"

"I…" Iariss could not give an answer. _There can only be love for the Immortal Emperor._ She stretched out her hand hesitantly and brushed his hair. Ju'sufyin nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her. Her soft footsteps were followed by a dozen powerful ones.

"Iariss…" the Guardsman's voice came out soft and weak. The Maid held his cold, stiff hand.

"I am sorry." the Maid almost kissed him. But she held herself back. _I am a member of the Ordo Militant, sworn to protect the Faith of the Imperium. I have failed so many times. _She thought about killing him on the bed, but the scalpel in her hands never came down. This man had saved her from indignation and kept her soiled purity from being further tarnished. But he was also the very reason of her unfaithfulness. She thought about the dream avatar. Maybe the only thing it wanted to do was to let her know the Guardsman for the man that he was. Imperfect and naïve. Yet always hopeful for the most inappropriate of reasons. With a pathetic thread of faith but maybe that was enough. Iariss left the room and smiled for the first time in months.


	18. Tau'va

Chapter 011

Chapter 018

"Maine, is the translator working?" Trance's voice can only be described as too gentle.

"It's working fine." Maine replied, turning the dial affixed to the bulky ear-mounted device.

"Good. I just spoke to you in Tau. And I am still doing so." Trance waved at him from the opposite end of the large auditorium together with the most prominent members of her clan. A large number of Tau and adherent allies of significant ranks were brought together on this day to discuss the best court of action.

"I wasn't aware of that. But this is a good translator. A couple of the Tau were calling me human vermin. So that's what Zan-gue'la means."

"It's not a joke, Maine. The warriors are generally taciturn. Especially these Vior'la veterans." Trance replied. "Why don't you sit with me?"

"Because I want a better view. I will not sit at the back."

"Blast. Then I am coming over." Trance got off her seat and weaved through files of non-warrior xenos. The build and eloquence generally matched their specific caste. _If the Imperium worked like this, I would've been a Hivemaster at the very least. _He thought about the fat Jonstele that presided over Church's home on Orres Prime. Only a corrupt system would generate such ineptitude.

The auditorium was a circular one. The center held the most privileged and highest ranked of the Tau. Maine recognized the Aun that visited Church. The one they called Ju'sufyin, _Of Simplicity._ She was given the honors to begin the Tau'va-tyn, a council for the discussion of the Greater Good. As she stood up, the rest of the Tau and the adherents followed suit. Trance managed to squeeze by his side and motioned him to join her.

Maine remain seated much to Trance's exasperation. The Tau around them glared and muttered things under their breath. Ju'sufyin motioned them to be seated. Trance grabbed Maine's thighs and pinched it hard. "Stop making a scene of yourself. Why can't you just follow the others."

"Quiet, love. I intend to follow this very closely." Nigel twisted a handful of Trance's solid hips.

"For centuries we have prospered. Our cultures have grown and the gift of the Great Unity and Greater Good was spread farther than we ever thought possible. Numerous worlds submitted voluntarily to our will. There were many sacrifices even at this very moment. Our warriors are still fighting off the other two prongs of the Imperial Crusade on the planets Por'Khusan and Por'Hiyan. On this planet itself, more than 3 million Imperials are still running amok, refusing to admit our rule." Ju'sufyin gave a very brief summary of the war. "Rumors of bigger wars are still about. All the captured imperial officers mentioned about a second and even a third wave." The crowd murmured. Trance pinched Maine back when she thought nobody was looking. She's only going through the motions of attending the meeting. For her, the war was already over.

"Respect the Aun!" one of the leading Tau warriors at the table barked. The auditorium became quiet all of a sudden.

"No disrespect was felt here, Shas'o." the Aun nodded. "If there's any questions and objections, you may raise them now. The rule is simple. Never oppose the Greater Good." She looked around. No one raised their hand. "I would give the right of speech, then, to Shas'o Hiyan'zuo, Ar'tola of the Fire caste on Por'Kais."

The leading Tau warrior had no braid. Probably severed it in shame. He stood up and tore off his upper robes to reveal the numerous wounds that nearly drowned out the great scar he carried on his chest. "It is often believed that we can convince these humans to join us willingly with our superior culture, technology, ideas and strength of unity. I declare today that this is wishful thinking. There is no sense in these humans and these are the evidences against it. Nearly a hundred thousand of our warriors had fallen. All of them good Ta'lisser, bonded friends." Hiyan'zuo made an attempt to seize the emotions of the Tau that lost their friends in this battle. "I may not be of senior enough authority, but I have fought for thirty years. I was fortunate enough to serve with O'Shaserra herself, and it was during the Third Sphere Expansion that I met my bond mate whom I fathered two children with."

Some of the Tau warriors had their heads bowed, their lips muttering bond oaths that they had made. Maine knew what this Hiyan'zuo was going to say next.

"Uriah's Betrayal and the Massacre at the Neck cannot be forgotten. I lost all my Ta'lisser to these traitors. Do you know what it felt like to see your own bond mate of twenty years and promising children killed in the most barbaric ways thinkable?" Hiyan'zuo continued his hate filled speech. "These humans are incapable of civilization or culture. They are not that dissimilar to greenskins. Both have religion and both use a sadistic volume of violence. And if our agenda is to wipe out the greenskins, then we should extend this policy towards the humans."

"Not in front of our adherent helpers, Shas'o." Ju'sufyin interrupted. She could tell the adherents were getting very uncomfortable with Hiyan'zuo's emotional outburst.

"It is for the Greater Good I am arguing for. The deaths of my Ta'lisser and good sons were only miniscule losses compared to the death of Aun Siu'zan Uysina'un. It was cruel, Ju'sufyin. We have the motion-captures. See for yourself, and then you would find it impossible to pass anymore favorable judgments on these savages." Hiyan'zuo motioned for the Tau technicians to prepare an auditorium-wide view. "If my brethren and Ta'lisser of the Vior'la sept have any more illusions about the human, then may this destroy that mirage forever."

Maine seen all this. But he never realized that one of those captured Tau was an Aun. The malnutrition and abuses must have hidden her high born identity. When an unfortunate female was tied to the wheel and had her limbs crushed, everyone got onto their knees and pounded their foreheads onto the floor. Humans within the audience were shaken by the sheer barbarity of their own compatriots. Maine nearly yawned.

"Stop it." Ju'sufyin stood up and trembled. "Stop this madness. Shas'o, how did you allow your Ethereal to be captured and killed by them?"

"She allowed herself to be captured. Against all my suggestions she stubbornly refused to retreat to the Peninsula with us." Hiyan'zuo gritted his teeth. "She wanted to help the humans escape from their wicked onslaught. But her charges sold her like an item to the Crusaders. They became these mad beasts of treason. We cannot tolerate the traitor."

"So who then captured this?"

"A human that still had a thread of decency. It fed directly into my personal motion-cast. I had the tragedy repressed. No one knew about this but me. We fear the Mont'au more than the loss of our own lives. People only knew that Siu'zan had died when you arrived with the fleet. Today I expose the truth before the council and all the worthy members of the Great Unity."

"Very creative of you, Shas'o, to use past vocal recordings and create an illusion that your Ethereal was still alive." Ju'sufyin said in an accusing tone. "And you led in her stead. Are you another O'Shovah in the making?" _Who the hell is O'Shovah? Some big time independent thinker? _Maine was made very curious about the Ethereal's comments.

Hiyan'zuo didn't make a reply but drew his bond knife. Another warrior tackled him and seized the knife before he could plunge it into his own heart. This warrior was another solid pack of corded muscle and sinew, his braid almost reaching his knees. "It would have been worse, Ethereal. Hiyan'Zuo had prevented the madness from coming to past." An eloquent looking Tau who was definitely not a trained warrior elaborated the situation. "We would be more than lost if we came to know that our beloved Siu'zan was slain in the most brutal manner. Our judgment would be clouded by the worst behaved amongst the general well-behaved adherents. We would have never trusted them and definitely would never achieve the great victory at the Neck."

"Nicely put, Zou'han Por'lyisan. I suppose you have a hand in this as well." Ju'sufyin extended her accusations. "Help Hiyan'zuo up and tell me everything, given that the Shas is not the most eloquent of our brethren and prone to destructive emotions at times."

"As our Ethereal demands." Zou'han bowed and together with the other Tau warrior carried the distraught Hiyan'zuo back to his seat. "The late Siu'zan had provided me authority and leave to work with the other castes in our desperate plan. I guessed of her death when the Shas'o attempted to assault the entrenched Imperials. It was clearly contrary to the Art of War and smelled of irrationality."

"And you knew what to do?"

"Siu'zan left her plans to me, given that I was one of the co-architects." Zou'han

"An architect of?" Ju'sufyin asked.

"Allow me to elaborate. We have always prepared for a possible retaliatory Crusade. Hiyan'zuo was utterly convinced that we would be the direct recipient, especially given the fact that O'Shaserra had given priority over reestablishment of Unity in the outer enclaves instead of strengthening her newly captured planets. He repeatedly petitioned for additional contingents. Despite doing all that was possible, there were less than four hundred thousand of the Shas safeguarding the planetary population of three billion. The Earth movers proposed an all out fortification of the Peninsula. But a handful of Imperials could easily fortify the Neck of the Peninsula and trap us there. Siu'zan proposed something else to reinforce our position."

"To besiege the Imperials instead with an endless tide of loyal adherents?" Ju'sufyin's eyes sparkled with anticipation. _I am curious too. _Maine also wanted to know how they seized the loyalty of an enslaved race so easily.

"You are indeed a gifted prodigy true to the clan of Uysina'un." Zou'han provided a clear rundown. "All members of the Great Unity are different, and through diversity, specialization, duty and responsibility to we achieve the enlightenment of Tau'va. The Tau is divided into the elemental castes of Fire, Water, Earth and Air assisted by the benevolent guidance of the Ethereals. The Empire functions in a similar way."

"Siu'zan's words." the Ethereal closed her eyes. Perhaps a sign of grievance.

"Siu'zan believed that we can tutor the humans. Despite all that Hiyan'zuo had said about them in general, it is clear that they have great potential. They are numerous beyond counting, and in tenacity some proved greater than our most hardened Shas. The modified zealots took four and half times their worth of warriors before being wiped out. In terms of their grasp of technology, the Earth representatives would all agree that they are eager learners and could come to a full sense of understanding given sufficient training. It is unwise to allow such potential to go waste. Siu'zan trusted the humans to come to grips with Tau'va and become strong defenders of it. She never gave up on her belief even unto her tragic death."

"And you were absolutely sure that the adherents were to be trusted?"

"Siu'zan's sacrifice. Outmaneuvering a Shas is easier than convincing humans." the warriors glared at the eloquent administrator and bureaucrat who smiled it off. "Hiyan'zuo spoke of the humans' betrayal to the warriors and other Tau. I instead chose to speak to the humans. While Hiyan'zuo strove to convince our beleaguered council that we should enact the fail-safe measures, I chose to goad the adherents that the time had come to prove that they can live up to Siu'zan's ideals. Tens of millions answered the call to arms. It surprised Hiyan'zuo. Though I am afraid that he had conveniently forgotten about it."

"Tens of millions is still a minority compared to the billions on this world." Hiyan'zuo argued. "Sure, we can keep those that have fought bravely and treat them like a good and loyal Tau. But I would not allow the rest to get away with their treasons."

"Just as a reminder by your logic, the hundreds of thousands that decided to follow the destructive path of delusional superstition is an even smaller minority. Surely we cannot judge the entire Shas to be of O'Shaserra's quality." Zou'han leaned forward and looked at the veteran with his eyes. "Tell me, Shas'o, who was it that killed the dishonorable liar called Uriah Minc? Is it one of yours or one of our great adherent clans?" Hiyan remained silent.

"A harsh plan but a dangerous one, nonetheless. There were many places where it could have failed, but we have all pulled through. Siu'zan wasn't the first and she wouldn't be the last." Ju'sufyin acknowledged the sacrifice of the late Ethereal. "Bearing such bias against the humans would be unfair, Bright Flame of Hiyan. Though it is generally agreed that acquiring the allegiance of our Kroot and Vespid allies were smooth affairs, I would just to remind you that there were initial difficulties. And difficulties always meant the sacrifices of a few Ethereals or Water caste diplomats. These are the true followers of Tau'va. They gave up their lives so that the lesser races would come to accept a rebirth which would set them free from the constraints of their narrow and barbaric views."

Hiyan'zuo was addressed by his honor-name by the Ethereal. He had nothing else to add, but complete subservience. "This Bright Flame would do whatever the Ethereal commands."

"Very good, Bright Flame. Learn from Zou'han. The Ethereal's only role is guidance. We do not seek to dictate, oppress or enforce. Ours is only to provide a conducive environment for all to work under. And in our great racial alliance, the Tau serves as the Ethereal. Obeisance is provided willingly. To sink to the levels of our opponents is to give them their greatest victory. Remember this above all, that Tau'va seeks Unity, not division." Ju'sufyin gently touched the aged veteran on his forehead.

"On to business, Ethereal." the other wizened warrior with his extremely long braid reminded. "We still have several million Imperials running amok and starved to insanity on the continental plateau."

"Our next item on the agenda, Shas'O Bai'Khos'un. Your suggestions?" Ju'sufyin asked.

"Obliteration with orbital bombardment. It is for this reason that the Air caste Kor'o Yihyan'eth is here." Bai'Khos'un mentioned to a figure that was clad in an enclosed environmental suit. "I will not risk casualties for these countless vermin bent on self-destruction."

"A petition to obliterate has always weighed heavily on my heart. We would not be able to use certain areas of the affected plateau for a few months, I am afraid." the Kor'o said through its vox-cast. "Our options are few."

"What does the Earth Master say of this?"

"Given that in times of war, the Shas has the authority to ask the Earth to conform to their needs, we would not provide any comments." a stocky Tau with his badges of office demurred. _A master builder, it seems._

"Your Ethereal desires to know your personal inclinations." Ju'sufyin insisted.

"The use of fusion atomics on the Guards would render the most fertile regions of the plateau worthless and subject to more than a few hundred years of radioactive poisoning, not to mention possible contamination dangers to our water supply. Shas'o Bai'Khos'un's scorched earth policy had driven the Imperials desperate, but it also destroyed public works that we and our helpers spent decades to construct. It was a painful sacrifice for a few million enemy soldiers. But necessary for the Greater Good."

"I would like to know a Yes or No answer."

"No. I would not recommend fusion atomics. We have millions of adherent soldiers. Why not use them?" the Earth Master was truly naïve. The adherent troops were depleted and most were actually using looted Imperial equipment which did not have replacement parts. Even Maine knew that.

"Or we can starve them out." Bai'Khos'un said. "But Shas'O Kha'yan'nia at Por'Khusan made a second petition for my coalition to intervene within a week. We cannot guarantee that the adherent defenses could hold the starving men in. And starving men fight fierce."

"Then come up with a better plan." Ju'sufyin said. "Before the atomics become a necessity."

XXX

Maine fondled the supple body that lay underneath him. Trance's cheeks flushed with ecstasy as the girl bit him on his lips and sucked on his tongue. _So this is how it feels like to be with someone that loves you._

"Maine! Stop being a piece of wood and give me love!" Trance hissed into his ear. "Love me as you had promised." Trance was totally enamored by Maine, for all the wrong reasons too. She probably hated the conformist atmosphere in her own clan and clung on to Maine as the evil deviant to prove her independence. And to be honest, Maine knew that he wasn't great at providing love. His mind wanders off too easily.

"Just say it! Say that you love me." Trance's tiny tongue licked the scar tissues on his chest and body. And for some reason, Maine felt that he was ready to go again for the fourth time tonight. Her small eyes were lovely. He looked into them to find his own tiny reflection. And then she slapped him hard.

"Do something! Don't just lay there!" Trance got more aggressive. It woke part of his primal soul up. He pinned her down and forcibly spread her legs. Unlike the crazy zombie-worshipping bitch that he almost had raped, Trance was intact and kicked back with a force that reminded him of Horatia March's Maul. And for the next few hours, he pretended that Trance was the two hundred year old bitch queen. _Too bad she died before I could teach her this lesson._

While Trance lay curled beside him, Maine studied the face to a greater detail. He concluded that the people of Hugh Alpha and Orres were not that different in terms of general ethnicity. He thought about the Guardsman still lying in semi-consciousness on his bed.

"That hurts, bastard.' Trance murmured in his sleep.

"Hmm." Maine knew that Trance was dreaming.

"Nigel…bring me out of here…" Trance murmured again. Maine didn't know why, but he felt compelled to give her a kiss on her cheeks and then got off the bed.

"Where are you going?" Trance asked aloud just as Maine was getting dressed.

_I had forgotten that she was a light sleeper. _"Big plans, Trance. I am carving a niche for myself. Can't be your little pet forever. It should be other way around."

"But I am yours."

"Then I don't deserve you at all. Right now, Trance, I am nobody. Certainly not deserving of a goddess. And I promise I would be something when I come back." Maine wore a coat and walked out of the room confidently before being hit by something on the head. Trance probably threw it.

"Take the pass. You wouldn't go anywhere without it." Trance spat. "And don't ever come back. I hate you."

_Fucking women._ Maine picked up the pass and continued his way, whistling a nearly forgotten Orresian undercity song. _Where the Emperor's Light don't Shine, and Whores cost mere Five Purples._

XXX

And this was how it's supposed to be. Maine was back in his layered carapace and Imperial garb on a Leman Russ tank. Stocked full of fuel and flanked by picked men, he blitzed through the blasted landscape with twenty five thousand men and fifty thousand prisoners. More than half of whom were women. Within a good age group as well.

A squad of decrepit guardsmen emerged from their entrenchment. "By the Emperor! It's an entire Army Group!" Maine jumped off his Leman Russ and approached these wide-eyed guards, their chiseled faces betraying signs of hunger. A bodyguard took out a bag of ration buns. The starving guards surged forward like ravenous wolves, only to be halted by Maine's command sword.

"Discipline!" Maine barked. "Look at your pathetic selves. Officers eat first! Who is the sergeant?"

A scarred soldier stepped forward and received the entire bag. "We're saved. We're going to win, isn't it?"

"So long as you hold this position, you're guaranteed to lose." Maine looked to the sky. "Atomics raining down in a week's time."

The Sergeant almost dropped the bun he was wolfing down. "A…atomics?"

"Biggest boom you'd ever see, soldier. Who's in charge of this parts?"

"Used to be Essesohn. Fishpan revolted and won. So it's Fishpan now."

Maine reached for his las pistol immediately. "And you sided with Fishpan's clique?"

"No…there's no sides! I mean, mercy! Please have mercy!" the Sergeant dropped down to his knees as the barrel of the pistol pressed hard against his forehead. Maine looked in disgust and seized the Sergeant's own pistol.

"Who here thinks he can be better sergeant that could adhere to the Tactica?" Maine looked at the beleaguered men. One of the more ruthless looking private stepped out. Maine handed him the Sergeant's pistol with a subtle body language.

"Fucking bullshit! Kannes, you can't do this to me!"

"Sorry, you're no longer sergeant." Kannes said coldly and executed his ex-Sergeant in cold blood. Point blank shot to the head. The las beam cut cleanly through and the limp body twitched in the blackened ground as the shock impulses activated the various muscles at random.

"Good job, Kannes. You might be going somewhere in the future." Maine nodded with approval when Kannes saluted him with style. "Lead the way. I intend to see this Fishpan."

The Imperial camp had an atmosphere of dread. Maine looked around and observed the camp carefully. Some of the men looked at them with murderous eyes. The self-styled Duke General of Orresian Continental Theater came out with all his pomp, looking more well-fed than starved.

"Lord Marshal Nigel Maine, Orresian Army Group, Isthmus Theater." Maine saluted.

"Duke General Fishpan of the Continental Theater. We have some Isthmus survivors here. Not too many, though." the monstrosity grinned. This beast had filed all his teeth to have sharp ends. His bulbous and puffy eyes studied the hardened outlines of Maine's face.

"How many men do you have here?"

"Down to two and a half million, divided into five half-million Army Groups. You burden us with your arrival."

"We have enough food for half a million for another three weeks. The second and third wave might arrive then, Duke General Fishpan. Or better, we can continue our raids and establish an Imperial colony with acquired womenfolk." Maine signaled Kannes to roll forth a barrel of preserved mollusks and sacks of flour.

"Local foods." Fishpan grunted. "You raided them?"

"Sure I did. Cut right through their sacred grove. Salvaged a downed Inquisitional Ark for fuel. Gave us enough push to assault a town by complete surprise. Lost half the men in the process." Maine said grimly. "And tens of thousands of prisoners. Women, Fishpan. Your men could relieve some tension. And as usual, the best is reserved for the best." A major tugged at a line of bound prisoners that could pass as good looking. Fishpan hardly looked at them, but his men were more honest with their desires.

"I suppose I could set you up in one of the disused corners." Fishpan said.

"No problem. But there's something else." Maine took out a torn our xeno communications device that played a message back and forth repeatedly in gibberish. "Wear the translator. It would help." Fishpan was given an ear mounted bionic. He wore it after a brief moment of hesitation, and his eyes widened with fear.

"They can't be serious."

"Oh yes they are. They're no longer interested in prisoners. I salvaged enough heavy weapons for a frontal blitz at a xeno manufacturing complex eighty kilometers of here. They probably wouldn't rain atomics down on us if we hold more than eight thousand of them as hostage. And then we will bargain."

"You sure it would work?"

"All the time, Duke General. The aliens are loathe to kill their own." Maine reassured Fishpan.

The plan was nailed down in two days and Fishpan threw a feast to prepare his men spiritually, mentally and physically. His senior officers and their choice consorts laughed and supped on the food supplies that Maine brought. Fishpan had a great many cups of local narcotics and downed them like water. He took a bite of the mollusk and spat it out. "Curses, Maine. What the hell is this?"

"Local favorite, Duke General." Maine laughed as he wrapped his arms around a young girl, smothering her frightened face with an occasional kiss. "Very nutritious, but takes a while getting used to."

"Bah." Fishpan flung one of the girls over the table with his powerful arm. Two soldiers immediately came forward and dragged her away screaming.

"She pissed you off, I suppose." Maine held his girl's breasts in his hand.

"Hmph. This food pisses me off." Fishpan growled. "Tell me of the Isthmus theatre. How on earth did you lose a simple war?"

"It wasn't that simple, Duke General. They rallied the locals out on us. Outnumbered us two to one with those plasma torches and rifles. The late Lord Inquisitor Horatia March, may her beatified name bless us all…"

"Stop that, Maine. No more mentioning of the Imperium or any articles of the Faith." Fishpan's eyes were so red that it even made Maine uncomfortable.

"If my Duke General prefers it." Maine nodded. "It was terrible. Uriah Minc bought his end when a local suicide squad detonated a tactical explosive device under his Baneblade. The blasted xeno reinforcements landed right on top of us and routed our forces. They blocked both ends of the Isthmus and the men were little better than panicked insects."

"Essesohn hardly talked about it."

"Interesting. Essesohn was here?"

"No. He never was." Fishpan lied. "We do have some Isthmus survivors. Mostly privates."

"Oh." Maine looked at the other Colonels and Majors that attended the feast. Fishpan's men carried expressions of predatory wolves. "Let me continue with the battle then. Lord Commissar Essesohn decided to make a breakout before the locals could seal off Uriah's Line completely. And we did. Only lost fifty thousand men in the process, mostly in the first five hours of battle. But the xenos pre-empted us. They reduced the continent to black dirt. I broke off with fifty thousand men and went for their sacred grove. Perfect hiding place, by the way. And the shipwreck was lady fortune herself dropping from the sky."

"Enough about the war. We would do as you plan. Head out for a hit first thing in the morning. Today we feast our fill. Tomorrow we fight and die as men."

"Hail the Guards." Maine echoed. Fishpan didn't answer but glared.

"Ah, here comes real food." Fishpan clapped his hands together as the men brought forth half-raw slices of meat. Maine and his officers stared at it. The others tore at it like ravenous predatory beasts clothed in human skin.

The girl next to Maine reached for the enticing meal. Maine grabbed her hands before she could even touch it. Fishpan turned his head and looked at him with a curious eye. "Tender, Maine. Really tender." a trickle of blood flowed out the corner of his mouth.

"Fabulous." Maine smiled and took out his combat knife, cutting away at the meat and stuffing it into his mouth as fast as he could. Fishpan did not need the knives. He had filed teeth.

XXX

Maine tried to throw everything up. Kannes patted him on the back to comfort him and handed him a towel.

"You're a good man, Kannes. Now tell me, why did you shoot your Sergeant?"

"An order from a direct superior."

"And Fishpan isn't your superior?"

"No, sir. Essesohn is. But without Essesohn, I would have to answer to a man proven to be a loyal member to the Immortal Emperor. I hope that it would be you, Lord Colonel General."

"Good. You saved yourself again. Keep this up, and I will have you promoted in no time." Maine wiped his mouth and thought about the prisoners.

"Orders, Lord Colonel General?"

"Let it happen." Maine said softly. Kannes saluted. All the other officers nodded and fired a series of flares into the sky. Within moments, Maine's men were roused and began their pre-planned attack. The night sky became criss-crossed with tracer rounds and las beams, and was briefly lit by intermittent explosions. Maine and his chosen guardsmen with their waist-gimbal mounted plasma burst cannons marched through the chaos of the battle without meeting any sensible resistance. Kannes looked confused at their Tau-provided equipment.

A company of Leman Russ tanks were brought to bear against Fishpan's earthen fortress. Bring's head emerged from the hatch and he shouted through his vox. "Maine Backstabber! Permission to take it all down!"

"Just make a breach. I want to get the prisoners out."

"But…weren't you the one that suggested using them?"

"I changed my mind. No one deserves this type of horror." Maine replied. Bring nodded and got back into the turret. The tanks fired a barrage of high explosive rounds and created a breach in the main gates. With the advantage of surprise and using the drunken stupor of their foes, Maine's soldiers easily overran the entire complex despite being outnumbered twenty five to one. Dropships carrying reinforcements arrived at the perimeter. Tau warriors charged through the gates that were opened from the inside to help their human allies. The bewildered Kannes stared in disbelief. Maine just gave him a hard hit to the back of his neck, allowing his body to crumple to the ground. _Let the idealists fall asleep._ Maine and his crack troops entered the fortress. He emerged few hours later with the prisoners that he delivered to Fishpan moments ago, and half the men he brought in. On his back was the tortured body of Essesohn. _I have to stop giving all these fucking morons free piggy-back rides._

A squad of battlesuits jumped into the midst of resisting guardsmen and tore them up with arm-mounted burst cannons and flamers. Maine looked at the leading suit with its bright red markings. "Shas'o Bai'Khos'un." He laid Essesohn on the ground and stood at attention, pounding his right fist over his heart.

"Gan'dya khosa, gue'vesa." the battlesuit replied. _Job well done._

_Not yet, Shas'o. _Maine climbed a top Fishpan's command chimera after a few trusted soldiers took the unconscious Essesohn away. The ex-97th company soldier named Boyle Young managed to slice through the circuitry and take control of the vehicle. "Onto the second camp, Young."

"Aye, Backstabber. You know, you're really good at that."

"Shut up, Young." Maine's troops rushed to the gates of the second encampment. The soldiers were already woken up by the firefight in the headquarters. "Who is it? What the hell is happening?"

"Fuck that, soldier! Duke General Fishpan's wounded bad! Surprise attack from within! Open the gates!"

"Password! Give me the fucking password!"

"Blut und Geld!" Maine cursed. "Now get me through!" _Fuck Corn, Korn or whatever he is._ The gates opened immediately. The tanks and soldiers charged in. Tau soldiers in stealth gear was amongst them, quickly dispatching the gate guards and cutting communication lines. This encampment was slightly different. It was more or less occupied by a vast majority of wounded soldiers who immediately chose to surrender rather than fight. _Two down, three to go._ Bring would be the one facing the real difficulties.

"Not too bad for a night's work." Young shifted the transmission to reverse and backed up to avoid a tank trap. Maine fired by instinct into the possible dug-in pillboxes. "So what made you rescue those girls? Aren't they the locals that decided to join March's Crusade when she came rampaging up and down?"

"You know what we're dealing with down here, Young?"

"No. It looks pretty standard for me."

"Cannibals, Young. Fucking cannibals that eat their own wounded and make a throne out of their bones. This is not a camp you're looking at, Young. This one here is a butcher shop. They will rape the women and then eat them like cattle."

Young swallowed. But he swore this was the first time he saw Maine crying. "You can't be serious."

"They're not our brother in arms anymore. Join up with Bring. I want to be out of here as quickly as possible."

XXX

Bring was tearing at a piece of seasoned mollusk while Young had his usual meat on a stick. The two sat cross-legged on a Leman Russ, looking particularly proud and confident. The valley below them was filled with guardsmen, each with his hands on the back of his head and kneeling uncomfortably. Munitions, weapons and standards piled taller than man-height. Maine stood by the Shas'o Bai'Khous'un and Hiyan'zuo as a bedraggled imperial officer read the terms.

"Unconditional surrender." Maine translated.

"Accepted. By the Emperor's Name I damn you for eternity, Maine." the Imperial Officer spat.

"Given that you served under a man-eater and raised no arm against him when he killed off the commissars, I think the Emperor would cast you to the deepest pits of hell first." Maine retorted. The Shas'O hammered their seals of office into the document and muttered something in Tau.

"By the grace of the Tau Empire and the ideals of the Great Unity, no one below the rank of Lieutenant would be held responsible for the war crimes." Maine translated. The Guardsmen roared in surprise and relief. "May we follow the guidance of the Tau'va for eternity."

Standards with the familiar eight pointed star was doused with tank fuel and set ablaze. One of it was tipped with the snarling head of Fishpan whose eyes stared hard, seemingly unchanged from the moment of his death. Maine stared back. Next to it was a pile of bones of poor victims that Fishpan had sacrificed to his bloodthirsty god. Hundreds of thousands of blood-covered skulls and heads looked upon the fire with their empty eye sockets. One of them was probably the poor girl yesterday. Maine clenched his fist and the nails bit deep into his palms. Blood flowed out. But Maine didn't care. He wanted to be in a place where he can be loved and cared for.

"The Emperor's Justice will find you, Maine. Traitor. Backstabber." Sergeant Kannes of the Imperial Guards muttered as he was being marched past. Maine turned around and punched him across the face. _That was for the Greater Good._


	19. The Last Crusader

Chapter 019

A squad of four fire warriors saluted to the new rising star of a human adherent. The one they called Nigel Maine. He came up with the utmost brilliant plan of using surrendered elites he could trust to breach the defenses. Shattered two and a half million men in a single night and forced their unconditional surrender with minimal losses.

_A true Pantokha. And a fearsome one. _Ji'sun Yan'o held his breath when the human turned his eyes at him. The Gue'la was a crude and utterly unrefined race. Yet shaped by the same forces of selective evolution to become the most domineering nation in the galaxy. Ji'sun had every reason to fear Nigel Maine. Rumors had been flying around these few days on how he faced one of those warp possessed mad gue'la in a single combat and prevailed.

"The best firing instructors on the operation of plasma rifles?" Maine asked. _His command of our tongue gets better everyday. _

"Indeed, Shas'la." Ji'sun replied.

"We'll have a test." Maine snapped as he picked up a rock. One of the Shas shouldered his rifle.

"Any time, now." Ji'sun nodded. "Ma'linye is one of our best shots." Maine raised his eyebrows and hurled the rock into the air. Before Ma'linye could fire, Maine pulled out his plasma pistol and shot the rock himself. The white hot beam broke the rock into vapor and dust.

"Not impressed. An imperial rifleman would have gotten that before I could with my pistol." Maine was so full of arrogance that the Shas murmured under their breath. "If I were your foe you'd all be dead."

"Strong words for a defeated race, gue'la." Ku'lan Osh, whose blood flow with the fire of his revered ancestors, would not take this insult.

"Feel free to try, Shas'la." Maine unlatched his carapace armor and took off his shirt to reveal a body that went through abuses which should have killed normal men. _They say that this gue'la Pantokha is a monster._ Ku'lan Osh looked at the others. Ji'sun patted him on the shoulder to give him his confidence and helped him undo his armor. Ku'lan had a reputation to defend. He never backed down from any challenge. Especially from the gue'la. The hot blooded warrior killed five of them. Two of them in hand to hand combat with his bonding knife. _But those were ordinary conscripts. Maine is wholly something else._

"Address my rank properly, gue'la." Ku'lan flexed his corded muscles and relaxed his joints. "It's a Shas'ui you're talking to."

"An honor. I don't like fighting those beneath me." Maine taunted. "You guys can all pitch in if you want."

"We fight fair, gue'la." Ku'lan clenched his fists and attacked first, cracking a good one against Maine's face. The agile fighter was relentless and landed blow after blow, giving Maine almost no time or breathe to parry effectively. "Pathetic. They all said you're invincible." Ku'lan shot out excitedly as Maine was being forced back.

"A bit too early for words, Shas!" Maine was clearly underestimated. One hand shot out and grabbed Ku'lan's braid. The human dashed his face into the ground before dragging him up again by the hair and gave him a mighty upperhook that sent him flying. Ku'lan was knocked out. In less than fifteen seconds the fight was over.

Ma'linye charged in. Again Maine tried to leave room where his larger physique and longer limbs would be advantageous. The Tau Shas tried to close in, but failed to preempt that Maine never fought clean. A thrown rock hit him square in the chest carapace and a powerful blow smashed into the back of his neck. Ma'linye crumpled to the floor. Maine was fast. Too fast, in fact.

Ji'sun hand was only wrapped around the handle of the bonding knife when Maine gave him a slight nick with Ma'linye's. "Too slow, Shas'la." Maine patted his face with the flat of the captured blade. "As I have said before, if I were your foe you'd all be dead."

"Hmph." Ji'sun grunted. The fourth Shas cocked the rifle and aimed.

"Fine. I admit defeat. Good job." Maine dropped the blade. Ji'sun glared as he tried to help his companions back to their feet. Ku'lan had to be woken up with ice cold water. Ma'linye could not turn his neck without feeling pain. The Earth caste experts would attend to their needs.

"Those were the best shots, Shas'ui." Ji'sun felt his cut and looked at his blood. "Now who would instruct your men?"

"Anyone from the Vior'la sept would probably do a better job. Besides, I have seen how the Shas train. The chief firing instructor is always a Shas'el. You insult us by sending us Shas'uis. And only four for an army of nearly two million." Maine looked at the fourth fire warrior who had yet to shoulder the rifle. "Why is that one still aiming at me?"

"You're too close for comfort, Gue'vesa." Ji'sun said. "Gained the trust of the newly arrive Sept reinforcements way too fast as well. Shas'o Bai'Khos'un trusts you and your regiments. But we don't. The Por'Kais warriors have strong memories of what your kind did to us."

"What past is past. What is your name?"

"Ji'sun Yan'o." the warrior emphasized his clan name of Yan'o, master of the swift birds. A curious custom of the Tau. The clan name mattered more than the individual names. "I have done my family shame today by not defeating you despite having an advantage of three to one."

"No. You won." Maine pointed to the fourth warrior. "Get him to shoulder the rifle. That is driving me insane."

"Sou'kian." Ji'sun barked. The warrior obliged as if hit by a reflex response and saluted with his fist over the heart. "A fresh Shas. Hardly out of the training spheres."

"If you want the best, you should stop training them in those game eggs." Maine put on his shirt and the carapace all by himself. His joints were impossibly flexible. "You know how the prima-decas of Orres train? We train in death spheres. These were militarized Hives where entire armies of psychopaths, greenskins and unimaginable foes were pitted against boys. The call to battle became an addiction, Shas. We hunger for it. The lethargy of death and the promise of eternal life with the Emperor. Girls of most perfect forms were provided to us for every victory. We would ravish them and forget about them the very next day for we know no love. We are the perfect warriors."

"You lost the war."

"Anyone can lose a war. War is not just about having perfect warriors, Shas. I thought you knew that." Maine said.

"Those girls you mentioned. What will happen to them?"

"I don't know and I don't care. They're only there to provide more offspring that would become the next generation of prima-decas. It's male selection. A soldier candidate that survived to be a full fledged member of the prima-decas would have fathered at least thirty seven children given that he could impregnate at least a woman every month. Perfect replacement rate, since thirty six out of thirty seven candidates would be dead. The traits that allow the one to survive will be passed down."

"Are the girls of your same caste?"

"No. They're just smooth and soft and that was enough for us." Maine tried to remember their faces. He couldn't. He shook his head and gave up trying.

"Sounds like a caste. You father children that will be trained. Perhaps your father was one of those great warriors that survived the cruel training."

"Don't!" Maine grabbed Ji'sun by his neck with a suddenness that shocked the Tau. "Don't tell me about my father. Don't tell me about my children. I hope they are all dead." Again the fourth warrior cocked his rifle and aimed. "Get that blasted son of a bitch to lower his rifle before I shoot him."

"Calm down, Gue'vesa." Ji'sun tried to keep his calm. The eyes of Nigel Maine reminded him of a ravenous Kroot. "I just found the system to be curiously similar to ours."

"No. You don't know anything about the Imperium, Tau." Maine grabbed Ji'sun and used him as a shield. The fourth fire warrior hesitated in firing. Maine didn't. The plasma beam scorched the side of his helmet. "Tell him that he would not be so lucky next time."

"Sou'kian! Keep your sword of plasma fire. He means no harm!" Ji'sun gasped as Maine's grip tightened. The warrior bowed and kept his rifle. Only then did he proceed to check the searing wound on his cheek.

"You are fortunate that I did not shame your lack of martial prowess in front of my regiments. You're lucky that this is a private meeting, Tau." Maine set his hostage loose. "If you want to prevail over the second third wave, you better carry my suggestion forward to your masters and follow it to the letter. Nothing less than a Shas'el. Or best yet, a Shas'o or two to prove your sincerity, and at least a ten thousand veteran Shas'ui to instruct the men. Give us your best builders, armorers and engineers to establish the defenses. We do not tolerate substandard equipment. If you think we would, I'd say you might as well send us all into slave labor. At least when the Imperium comes again we could use the plea of enslavement for our survival. And forget about your own pathetic lives. You'll all be dead. That boy right there? He'd be dead faster than a blink." Maine pointed at the fourth warrior to make his point.

Ji'sun swallowed his spit. He didn't smell deception. The human was honest. Ji'sun beckoned the fourth warrior forward and checked the glancing hit that Maine gave him.

"Your son?" Maine asked.

"No. The son of my sister. We are nearly identical in age. Both parents died in the war. He vows vengeance." Ji'sun explained.

"Good. If you want the bloodline to continue, you know what to do."

XXX

Ji'sun thought about the Gue'vesa. The Shas'el treated his suggestions as insults. Shas'el Juli'zun Osh, the father of Ku'lan Osh, even suggested that Maine might as well train his men in hand to hand since he's so good at it. It was obvious. Maine stood out too much as an anathema to the Greater Good. Nevertheless, Shas'o Bai'Khos'un who happened to be conveniently nearby during the discussion interceded on Maine's behalf. He would carry the advices to Aun'la Ju'sufyin before he leaves for Por'Khusan later that day. Everyone muttered human-lover under their breath.

The Shas'ui would meet the honorary Shas'ui in his command unit tonight for other reasons. Maine was a strange one to him. Unlike the other Gue'vesa officers and clan leaders, he refused to live in the comfortable quarters built in the cities. It didn't endear him to the other elites, but the men certainly supported him and gave him a great deal of respect.

"Shas'ui!" a pair of armored soldiers saluted in Tau fashion. For some reason they stood by the entrance of Maine's minimalist theater command.

"Shas'ui Maine's presence is requested." Ji'sun saluted back. An accompanying bodyguard studied their faces and whispered into his ears. _Boyle Young and Janus Bring._

"Enter then." The men made a distinct sequence of raps on the door. _Some form of Guardsman code, perhaps. _Ji'sun nodded to his bodyguard and both entered the bunker.

"Ah. Shas'ui Ji'sun Yan'o, the Grandson of the Changing Seasons." Maine smiled. "I suppose you have news of my request?"

"Still pending, Gue'vesa." Ji'sun replied. "The Aun would discuss about this matter later today without fail." _And something doesn't smell right here._

"I suppose they will take a few days to think about the best way to say no. Maybe I should convince them myself." Maine would not take no for an answer either. "Hopefully you'll visit me when you've better news to give me, Shas'ui." He mentioned for the door. _Rude and uncultured. _

Once outside the camp for a safe distance away from curious ears, Ji'sun's bodyguard spoke with Trance's voice. "You looked suspicious back there. What is it?"

"I smell another woman." Ji'sun admitted. He was never good at lying. It's far better to be honest in front of his friend.

"I knew it! I knew it!" Trance took off her helmet and threw it to the ground. "That smooth talking liar! He stopped coming to me after his supposedly great victory! I would have his head for this."

"Gue'vesa Trance of the May Clan, you should have listened to your father and bond with another Jun'zya befitting of your station and caste. Your honor is soiled if you continue this pursuit." Ji'sun did not want to tell her about Maine's darker histories.

"No. I want to see who this woman is. Teach her a lesson or two." Trance took off her helmet. Her eyes were red with jealousy and swollen with tears.

"I wouldn't allow that. You're a good friend, Trance of the May Clan." Ji'sun barely finished his sentence when Trance ran towards the skimmer and clambered onto it. She had spotted Maine going off with his vehicle at the corner of her eye and was certainly assured that he was meeting his new lover.

"You're not using your rational senses!" Ji'sun ran after the speeding skimmer to no avail. He immediately hailed a batch of Gue'vesa patrols and had them disembark the vehicle. Under the tutelage, the Tau must be obeyed at all times. That was a useful rule to have around. As Ji'sun sped off down the dirt track, the traction hover device began to groan and the engine spluttered. _Great. Second rate Gue'vesa devices. _Ji'sun cursed and got off the vehicle to continue his chase on foot. He didn't know how far he had trotted until he saw Trance's skimmer tucked away in the bushes. His sensitive sense of smell told him that Trance had entered the woods. Not a very wise choice.

The windy path was nearly submerged underneath bushes in mid-spring blooms. Amidst this smell he could catch the whiff of Trance's odor. The track led to a small ridge with a river. A shack was built on the banks. Maine's body was floating slowly down the currents in a pool of wafting blood. A half naked woman whom he had never seen before hauled a boulder that seemed impossible for her to lift. And yet she hoisted it above her head without betraying signs of strain. The third person was Trance, heavily wounded with her own blade thrust through the right shoulder and her ankle twisted to an impossible angle. She crawled on the ground on all fours trying to get away from her would-be killer. The boulder was meant to crush her.

"Another step and eat plasma fire, Gue'la!" Ji'sun shouted in the broken Gothic language that Trance had taught him. He leapt down the ridge and trained his plasma pistol at the woman. Her body was horribly scarred, just like Maine's. Her irises were a curious lilac, and strands of Gold were beginning to appear from her hair that was dyed darker than the night itself. The woman stopped and threw down the boulder, studying him carefully.

"On your…" before Ji'sun could order the woman to get down on her belly, she kicked up a cloud of dust and pebbles that pelted his face to disrupt his aim. He fired by instinct at her torso, but this one was trained and had avoided the plasma beam by a quarter of an inch. Ignoring her scorched skin and the searing pain, the assassin tackled the Tau with speed, grace and a complete disregard to conventional norms. A spinning kick broke nearly all his fingers and sent the plasma pistol flying. Another elbow slam smashed the air out of his lungs. Before Ji'sun could even recover from the split second blackout he was already on his back sprawling clumsily. _A female battle zealot! Second only to the male fanatics!_

But everyone miscalculated Nigel Maine. The supposedly dead man had already risen out of his 'watery grave' and grabbed the pistol. 'It's over, Maid Iariss." A small plasma beam went through her right thigh and sent her crumbling to the ground. "I don't want to kill you." The battle sister stared back as she clenched her teeth in pain.

"I should have finished with you first, traitor. If a rock can't do it, maybe two would."

"Don't call me that." Maine ignored his right eye socket that was smashed beyond recognition. The orb itself was only a mess of viscous fluid mixed with pieces of bone, blood and tissue. "You used your body as bait. And I fell for it because you're the Guardsman's love. You knew I want everything he desires. And that was never too smart."

"He desires the dominance of the Imperium and the spread of the Emperor's Justice throughout the universe." Iariss argued. "A galaxy without traitors of your sort."

"You don't know the Guardsman enough." Maine chuckled.

"I've killed him. I pulled the plug. Could have done it with the scalpel. I would not live to see him corrupted by the evil ideology that you've learnt to spout like a servitor."

"Sorry. But I actually bothered to go back and check. I put the plug right back in and had your good sister Voinylle to make sure he's back in stable conditions. She feared me so much I thought I could freeze water on that smooth white skin of hers. When you kill someone, you always have to make sure. I gave her as a gift to one of the Guardsman's loyal footsolders. The one called Janus Bring. It's not too hard to win loyalties when all you had to do is write letters for them." Maine picked up Ji'sun and callously shot the Maid's other leg just to make sure. "Oooh…I suppose that hurt a lot. Cry a bit, would you? That probably might make you feel better."

"Traitor. May the Emperor's Justice find you!" Iariss squeezed her fists and screamed. Maine fired his third shot. Human anatomy dictates that the third beam through the liver would cause her to die eventually from massive bleeding. It would take at least an hour.

"We will leave this place, Shas'ui." Maine ignored the battle sister's blood-curdling curses and picked up his wounded consort. Trance spat at his face. The beast-man grinned as the spittle rolled down his bloodied face. "Loyal Shas'ui to the Tau, what happened here stays here." Maine emphasized the last line with a curious blink. He's the only one that was armed with a lethal weapon.

"As you wish." Ji'sun gave his word. And the Shas always live by their words. Maine hoisted Trance onto his skimmer gently and then went back to the shack, dousing it with a can of heater fuel and then proceeded to torch it. The relatively defenseless Maid was dragged across the rocky bank as the Beast tore the aquila necklace from her neck.

"The Emperor's Justice would find you, traitor! You will be forgotten as His mighty followers trample you to the Earth! Death to the Heretic! Death to the Alien! Death to the Faithless!" The faithful female screamed her final throes as Maine howled with ecstasy and glee and gave her a kick across the face. The fires consumed the shack just as the Tau captives by the Imperium had perished. Ji'sun felt a sense of poetic justice. The last Crusader was dead. Killed by one of those they had herded before them to die in their place. The zealots were beyond help. They were beyond the ability of the Tau'va to enlighten them in a glorious future. The Greater Good was forced to leave them behind.

"That is what would happen to the Imperium! Let the galaxy burn!" Maine thundered as he took a burning splinter and thrust the glowing embers into his macerated eye socket. It was then when Ji'sun personally believed that Nigel Maine was not human. He had to be something else. The Tau turned to look at Trance. She was enamored and enticed by the Beast that dwelt within the Man. Whether her cheeks were red from the glow of fire or with ecstasy the Tau could not tell. The smell of burning smoke was too empowering.

XXX

Ji'sun was tired. He hadn't slept for three days. The castes were still arguing about Maine's suggestion. Shas'o Hiyan'zuo denied it outright and even insulted Bai'Khos'un in the process. Too bad he wasn't here to hear it. In fact, most recommended bringing in the allies from Pech to teach the Gue'vesa where they belong.

"No. No allies from Pech." Ju'sufyin did not like the request. "I will not risk another Or'es Tash'n incident."

"We kept our colony because of our Kroot allies." Hiyan'zuo argued.

"Yes, but if word got out about the Incident, our human helpers would be most unhappy." Zou'han the eloquent water-caste administrator and diplomat reminded the Shas.

"We would not need traitors fighting by our side. This Gue'la called Maine had betrayed his own kind once. He would not find it too difficult to betray the Greater Good. Race traitors are the worst."

"If that's the case, Shas, you should be aware that the biggest resisters to Tau'va were the Shas." Zou'han leaned forward and stared at the wizened warrior. "It took nearly another five hundred years to bring you to the Greater Good. The Gue'la didn't even have two hundred, and you are ALWAYS the biggest impediments to the progress of the Por."

"Dribble mouth sweet talker. You're not the ones facing the traitors on the field." Hiyan'zuo slammed the table. "Ten thousand carnivores and a battalion of their mighty war beasts would overwhelm them with shock and bloodletting."

"You don't even know the Imperium, Shas. Those humans don't care if five or six millions of their kind dies in a single year-long engagement. They would destroy a world of billions just to push forward an interpretation of a single line in their Holy Text. That is the type of fanaticism we are dealing with." Zou'han's eyes narrowed to a line. "You think you know more about humans than all of us. Trust me, you only touched the skin. I know them to the bone and marrow."

"Ethereal, this Zou'han is obviously a lover of humans, to the point that it endangers his adherence to Tau'va." Hiyan'zuo began a clumsy attempt in personal attack. "I appeal that you think this matter through carefully…"

"Enough! Shas'o Bai'Khos'un had given his trust to the Gue'vesa Nigel Maine. Bringing in the Kroot would demand much of the Kor. Our fleets in this system were already operating at maximum efficiency to supply our various armies. And we all know that the human Empire had greater amount of resources to throw around. We must also remember that the Brotherhoods have yet to be paid for their assistance." Ju'sufyin said. "Just as a reminder, Bright Flame of Hiyan, Shas'o Kais and the Ethereal Prince T'pel were duly reprimanded for Or'es Tash'n. They might be heroes to the Shas, but they jeopardized the entire balance. Pitting the races under our tutelage against each other is against the Tau'va."

"Losing a colony is worse." Hiyan'zuo questioned. "This is an important cross-link. Holding on to the Third Sphere expansion meant holding on to the Water worlds. And the humans know that, too."

"Do not question the decision of the Ethereal." Ju'sufyin snapped. "We will follow through with Maine's suggestions. Bright Flame, you will do well to assist him. I want you to emerge as a trustworthy friend of the Gue'vesa. Observe them and learn from their weaknesses and strengths."

Hiyan'zuo bowed his head and tried to control his temper. But Ji'sun knew that the Ethereal sees through all veils of disguise. Personally, he was distrustful of humans. They were too dangerous. Their tendency of killing each other for a matter as small as bond mates was abhorrent. A decent Tau would have sought the solace of suicide if faced with such shame. And even Gue'vesa well institutionalized within the Tau'va were prone to such emotional outbursts.

"Shas'ui Ji'sun Yan'o, you have more experience than Hiyan'zuo with this man called Nigel Maine. Your feelings so far?" Zou'han asked.

"I suggest the Por'o to meet him in person." Ji'sun sided with Hiyan'zuo on this. "He is not a very pleasant man."

"Then assist your Shas'o. It is always for the Greater Good we serve." Zou'han replied. And as usual, the young Ethereal left with the water caste chief diplomat. Ji'sun knew that he probably should return to his bunk to catch some rest, but he had some other obligations. The medical center was not too far from here and his childhood friend was on the way of recovery, thanks to the high grade medications provided by defected Imperials.

Nigel Maine was already there. But he was kept out of the Medical Center. The May clan would not allow an outsider in and they certainly did not like Nigel Maine. His face was sour and taciturn.

"Recovering well, I hope." Ji'sun said. All that's left of his bloodied socket was a scar tissue and a few intrusive bionics installed by the Imperial earth-castes. Crude combinations of man and machine whose command of technological understanding was either a joke or outright astounding. Sometimes it was both. Or so his Tau earth-caste friends had said.

"By your leave, Shas." Maine changed his temperament faster than flipping a page of the book.

"Why did you want to kill the Zealot?"

"Whatever I could not get, I would destroy. I don't ask for much, Shas'ui. Just what the Guardsman desires."

"Who is this Guardsman you're obsessing about?"

"The stereotypical and most ordinary soldier of the Imperium of Man, characterized by his unflinching loyalty and sense of duty to the corrupt administration centered on the worship of a half-corpse." Maine said. "I want him to see me destroy his Imperium."

"What did the Pan'fu Saan-Ul May say to you?" Ji'sun asked. Pan'fu was the defacto kings of the various human tribes. Patriarchs and autocrats with absolute authority. These men and women were brutal and cruel. Then again, controlling the Gue'vesa humans who were ignorant of respect, hierarchy, place or duty probably required a great deal of force to keep them in line. "Did the Pan'fu threaten you with counts of soiling clan honor?"

"He charged me with nothing. He just unleashed his hounds on me and threw me out." Maine said. "I don't want to fight him. Not in front of Trance, at least."

"Perhaps you'll be more receptive to good news." Ji'sun said. Tricks of the water caste. Always say the good news first when the opponent appear to be in a bad mood. It would make the lowliest of offers more valuable. "Aun'la Ju'sufyin had agreed to your proposal. A Shas'o would honor your regiments. Shas'o Hiyan'zuo to be precise."

"Ah…the human-hater. Ju'sufyin is setting me up for fail." Maine muttered under his breath. "Maybe I should teach that Hiyan'zuo a lesson that I gave you all."

"I don't think you can beat him, Shas'ui." Ji'sun contained his anger. Maine never learnt anything about courtesy. "Hiyan'zuo fought greenskins by the side of O'Shaserra during the Third Sphere Expansion. And they were much better fighters than humans."

"One on one. In an army basis even the Guards could defeat them if numerically matched."

"There's no perfect situation in battle. They would never strike unless they're sure that they have a four-fold numerical advantage. And they reproduce like maggots in summer. That's the stratagem of force – use it overwhelmingly."

"The art of war. The _Shas'Biyn_." Maine had been learning a lot. He knew enough to read a Tau classic, a text that the Shas revere besides the Tau'va. It made Ji'sun uncomfortable, because this human did it without tutelage.

"Shas'Biyn is a good compilation. You should read it over and over and over again." Ji'sun didn't know why he had encouraged such behavior. Perhaps it was Maine's sincerity or eagerness to talk. Ji'sun either obeyed or commanded. He never had a real opportunity to discuss matters of tactics.

"I know. And I am sure that it is a legitimate guiding principle of the collective empire just like the Tau'va. Both are essentially married. The Shas'Biyn is aggressive and pragmatist. It provides the means. The Tau'va complements this with ideological backing and lofty objectives. That is the end product." _Impressive. He could even provide a conclusion._ "Ah. Here she comes."

Ji'sun knew who's coming. He got up and saluted as the unwavering member of the Greater Good he was born to be. Maine's salute was half-hearted. "At ease, good warriors. Maine, why are you outside?" the Ethereal was curious. Zou'han whispered something into her ears to provide more background about the adherent clans that helped the Tau to rule their human allies. Apparently such thing did not sit well with Ju'sufyin. "Preposterous. She's already bonded to Maine physically, and both did it willingly. She's the only one that should have the final say."

"Not everyone is as open as the Dal'yth sept, Aun." Ji'sun added.

"So are you thinking along the lines of the D'yanoi sept where a female Aun is intolerable to their male dominated-chauvinism? They're at least a century from realizing Tau'va. And I am being kind with my words here."

"Aun, if I may add, it is not wise to intercede or intervene within the affairs of the Gue'vesa. It might…" Ji'sun tried to provide a better explanation.

"Might make them upset?" Ju'sufyin glared. "They should be glad that I kept Hiyan'zuo from making further public statements and influencing other Tau."

"Dealing with the Gue'la and Gue'vesa is balancing on a tight-rope, Aun." Zou'han probably realized that Ju'sufyin can be naïve. She's younger than her aunt and less experienced. And both had a disproportionate bias towards the humans. "Most are mercenary, and would not fight unless paid. On this matter they're not unlike the Kroot."

"And therefore I intend to give the highest price." Ju'sufyin hardened her stance. "Helper, you will do well to come with me."

Ju'sufyin entered the clan medical center with no resistance. All the human adherents saluted as Ju'sufyin and her retainers trotted past. Trance's younger brother, Lansu May, could be seen scurrying to his father like the obedient son he was trained to be.

Saan-Ul emerged from the room with an escort of armed guards. "Revered Ethereal, apologies for not knowing your presence at the first possible moment." The clan patriarch reminded Maine of Essesohn, albeit with clear Orresian features of olive skin and smaller eyes. This man was brought up as a noble and aristocrat, well acquainted to a position of power.

"Very nice of you, Gue'vesa. How fares your Jun'zya?" Ju'sufyin looked at the clan Pan'fu that towered over her small frame.

"Poorly. The sight of this traitor would upset her greatly." Saan-Ul said.

"We'll see about that. Show me the way!" Ju'sufyin ordered. Saan-Ul's guards hesitated, but the Pan'fu chose wiser. His fingers snapped and adopted various signals as he passed down silent orders for the clan retainers, nephews and sons. Ji'sun didn't smell fear from Maine. The beast was as cool as he could be. Arrogant and gloating with his obnoxious smirk. But Lansu May was not as distraught as his father. He seemed just as happy as the dishonorable human.

"Aun, you must understand, my daughter as a Jun'zya has to choose a suitable bond mate fitting of her station. The May clan has sacrificed much blood for the Tau'va. At least two hundred thousand of our warriors lay dead or wounded. Our position is jeopardized by the fact that Clan Demos and Clan Yvan had spread rumors to our allied Clan Wes-Hur that she is made impure by an offworlder…" Saan-Ul attempted to talk sense into the young Ethereal.

"Well, if the Jun'zya of Clan Wes-Hur would not accept her, and if Trance's own position as Jun'zya would be compromised, perhaps you'd have a better candidate to replace her. Lansu, perhaps?" the Ethereal pointed at Trance's younger brother. He seemed only too overjoyed at this suggestion. It was fleeting, as he immediately concealed that with a façade of humbleness.

"Everything should be done for the Tau'va." Lansu bowed. "I would not contest my Father's decision."

"There's no Father here, Lansu. I am your Pan'fu and you'd do well to address me properly." Saan-Ul barked. He didn't like his son, always favoring the older daughter over him. Rumors were probably true. _Lansu's heritage was questionable. His mother was executed by Saan-Ul under the most mysterious of circumstances._

"We will ask Trance what she thinks." Ju'sufyin concluded the discussion. Her Tau retainers swung the doors open to the large spacious recovery room where Trance lay propped up and surrounded by her maids and mothers in waiting. One glance at Maine was all that it took. "Maine…Maine!" Trance cried softly as she stretched out her hands. Maine simply barged his way through and took her hands into his, kneeling on the ground and kissing them.

"Your daughter has no intention to marry the Jun'zya of Wes-Hur, it seems." Ju'sufyin noted. "Trance, what do you say of Nigel Maine? Would you perform the rites of bond, cross your blades, bloody your chests and drink the oath wine?"

"I will, and may we serve the Tau'va for eternity with our blood and spirit." Maine swore his oath before Trance could say hers.

"My oath is one and the same with Maine." Trance hurriedly complied as she looked at the horrendous scar on Maine's face.

"To'nyang dys! I have no daughter like this!" Saan-Ul stormed out and cursed in local Hughian obscenities. "Erase her name from the clan records. She's no longer a member of the Mays. And send her mother away as well. I regret having a child with that wretch of a mother who spoilt the useless brat."

"Never mind him, Nigel. I'd rather be a Maine than a May." Trance pressed her head against her lover's chest. Ji'sun knew the smell. Rather analogous to the smell of Tau when swearing the oath of the Talisser. But Maine looked different. _He must have wished to be a member of the May. I know this beast. An opportunist and a bloodthirsty beast. He smells of Mont'au – Strife and Selfishness._


	20. Seigneur Sancta

Chapter 020

Chapter 020

"Faith to the Emperor is the only reason why humanity has continued to dominate this galaxy."

"Remember this above all – the Emperor's selfless sacrifice for Mankind. A single lapse is all it takes to make this single greatest act of the Imperium naught."

"Our duty as the Doorkeeper and Guardian of the Imperium is to destroy the threat from without…and within."

"Their Damnation is Eternal. Our Martyrdom is Eternal, and sung by all Faithful alike."

"No deed of valor, no matter how small, escapes the Emperor's notice."

Lines of the Primer. Reciting them keeps one going in the face of impossible odds. The fact that the Uplifting Primer was at least ten millennia old made one feel stronger. Knowing that billion others had recited it and prevailed granted a tranquility of strength and confidence. Despite all these reassurances, the Guardsman's visions blurred and swam as he trudged through the undergrowth. He had carried the semi-conscious and delirious Maid Iariss on his back for almost two days. In a world mad with treason and godlessness, there was no respite for the faithful. No mercy for those that clung onto the Imperial Creed. What awaited both of them was a slow and tortuous death of the soul and body.

Maid Iariss's grasp had become weaker and weaker. The Guardsman knew that she's dying. He cried for the last Crusader that bore unquestioning faith in her heart – purest in the eyes of the Emperor. The pact had been sealed. She had whispered it in his ears when she tried to end his pathetic and traitorous life by pulling the plug. _She should have stuck to the scalpel._ This way he didn't even have to finish the job for both of them.

"What is this place?" the Maid's exhausted wheezing was hardly audible above the lapping of the waves. It was the cove where mussels the size of Pontic melons lived.

"Paradise." the Guardsman knew why he liked that place. The lapping waves and the never ending horizon brought comfort to his wounded soul. The salty air reminded him of Orres with its halide atmosphere. A pleasant breeze blew across their faces. "The Paradise that was promised to the faithful."

"Tell me your name, Guardsman, before our eternal bliss." the Maid brushed her broken lips across his face. The Guardsman did not answer, but continued to wade into the ocean. The faithful will die in peace in the state of adoration for the Immortal Emperor. "The faintest cries from you echo in my dreams, Guardsman. Not Mapleson nor Church. But Hope. And simply that." The Maid's heavy eyelids struggled to stay open. The word Hope made the Guardsman stop. The ocean was already up to his waist and brought great pain to her wounds. The Maid grasped tighter.

"Hope…the first step on the road to disappointment." Another oft remembered verse to remind the men that wishful thinking of anything besides the Emperor is fallacious and heretical.

"I cannot be disappointed in you." Iariss said. "I knew it the first time you spoke to my soul. I love you, and I love you, and I love you."

"Will you forgive me, then?" the Guardsman asked.

"I am yours for eternity. Your decision is mine. And my decision is yours. Grant me peace of heart, Hope, let us pass knowing that we have loved each other to the best of our abilities." the Maid fell asleep after her declaration. The Guardsman didn't continue down the path of death. Instead he made a choice that would one day resonate throughout the Galaxy. He headed back to the beach. In the corner of his salt encrusted eyes he could see other figures. Two playful men splashing in the water like children.

"Duh…duh! Lieutenant Church-boy!" Greg 'Boomer' the absent minded ex-vox man thrashed through the water clumsily. He could plead innocence based on his lack of a coherent mind. And in the Imperium, Innocence proves one thing. And that was Nothing.

"Lord Commissar Essesohn…" the other figure hammered the Guardsman's own memories back. The broken Lord Commissar of the Vermandois Crusade. Like Greg his mind was gone. He could only stare blankly at the Guardsman. Greg proceeded to splash the Guardsman with his strong flailing amidst his self-made music. _Home. I am Home again._

XXX

"Danyth' tosh zinla." A female voice passed from beyond the sliding doors. Four alien warriors picked the Guardsman up by the ropes that bound him like an animal for slaughter. Another two opened the doors to reveal a spacious room decorated with local vegetation. A female alien sat on a simple mat, surrounded by her closest advisors and ranked martial retainers. The warriors wore thick long braids that they wrapped around their necks, a testament to their martial prowess. A pair of younger warriors played a soothing tone with a lute and drum. "Well met, Guardsman Church. This will be my first time talking to you." The alien addressed him with what should pass for a smile.

"You talk Gothic well." the Guardsman said as the Tau that carried him had him kneel on a soft mat.

"Indeed. You do know that you're wanted on two counts. First for escaping custody and second for aiding a known dissident and assassin." the alien continued.

"I don't talk to nameless xenos." the Guardsman knew that if they wanted to kill him, they would already have done so. This was a display of force. _Albeit a very bad one. The musicians killed the mood. Or perhaps the music was meant to be frightful._ The warrior elites that surrounded the female rose to their feet and cursed in alien tongue.

"Aun'la, Yon'wa sui'tosh ki sha lo." One of them had half of his face cleaved away. The scar tissue covered a huge part of his damaged orbit and cheeks. It had all the works of an Imperial Chainsword.

"Enough, Juli'zun. I did not bring him here to have his tongue cut out before he can tell us anything useful. Guardsman Church, I am Ju'sufyin. Ruler of Por'Kais. You may continue to address it as Hugh Alpha if you so wish." the female motioned her guards to return to their seats. "We are inclined to overlook these counts brought before you if you work for us."

"For you? I am a servicemen of the Imperium. I have taken their wage and killed in the Emperor's Name. I have imprinted the Creed on my mind and took the Burden of Duty on my shoulders. A man does not serve a second master." the Guardsman knew he shouldn't have said that. It just came out as a reflex.

"We understand. A most loyal adherent to a great binding philosophy that holds your massive Imperium together." A male alien interrupted before the warriors could say anything. "I am Zou'han, the Tai'shang Sho'Lyn of Por'Kais. It is equivalent to the Master of Scribes and Chief Executor under the Imperial Model in the Eastern Arm of the galaxy. You came to us looking for help, yes?"

"That much of it is true." the Guardsman said.

"What say you, Guardsman, of duty and faith?" Ju'sufyin questioned. The phrase brought him to the most distant of memories. The moment when he stood before Lieutenant Papa Kunst and Lord Commissar Essesohn of the Orresian Regiments to testify his qualifications and fervor for the God Emperor. For a brief moment the young female alien's red eyes hardened and turned into a steely grey. The Guardsman cleared his mind. Nothing had changed. She was still as calm as ever, sipping an aromatic fluid from a porcelain cup.

"Faith is the purpose of existence, and duty is the action of faith. A dutiful man need not be faithful, but a faithful man is always dutiful."

"Standard answer from the loyalists." Zou'han reminded the female.

"According to the Tactica Imperium you would be sentenced to death for assaulting a commanding officer, abandoning your unit and failure to seek death in battle." Ju'sufyin nodded. "Nevertheless you and your bond mate had repeatedly defied us at every possible moment."

"We only try the best. And that is what makes the Heroes of the Imperium." the Guardsman countered.

"But they treat you like a decimal or a 'currency' to spend and forget, don't they? Your duty, as Horatia March had put it, was to die." Ju'sufyin sipped her drink again and gave it to an aide. "The Eastern Segment under Imperial control is mustering every single vessel capable of 'Warp' travel as your kind would call it. We have every reason to believe that the follow up invasion is impending."

"And so victory is in our grasp."

"Indeed, Guardsman. But we're doing everything we can." Zou'han analyzed. "O'Shaserra has launched diversionary attacks on sectors deprived of naval support. Planetary Governors and General Militants from Drift to Langsani are clamoring, envious of the attention that the Orresians had been receiving. Some had gone so far as to accuse Potemnus of pursuing personal gain. The death of the Lord Inquisitor Horatia March isn't quite helping his case. We could expect the so called second and third wave to be delayed just long enough for our defenses to be fully operational. It is truly unfortunate that your illustrious race is under this petty administrative organ of selfish enterprises and autocrats."

"It is better to being ruled by aliens."

"You amuse me, Guardsman." Ju'sufyin appeared to be laughing. "We are not ruling you. Look around and you'd see that the Gue'vesa of Por'Kais is essentially self-governing. We are all under the Tau'va. It is the Tau'va that rules us all irregardless of race or creed."

"And do you even question whether the Imperium Creed was what the Emperor had wished, or was it a machination of his aides to empower themselves?" Zou'han asked. "From what we know, your Emperor is but a half-corpse on the Throne of Terra, kept alive only because he's still useful to the Human Empire."

"He's the one that forged the Empire."

"Numerous Empires had been forged by Mankind, Guadsman, each out-competing the last in terms of size and brutality. An Empire that espouses intolerance and hatred as its two core values could only face collapse as it turns against itself. Oh yes, we're always curious about the History of Mankind, and it had taught us much. Where has Mercy gone? Or Compassion? Or let's even talk about Hope. Are you even allowed to hope for a better future? Or do they tell you to appreciate what you have, even when it means the death of your most loved ones?" Ju'sufyin seemed to know every single secret that the Guardsman kept. _Sarai and our unborn child. This alien knew about it._

"If serving the Emperor means so much to you, then serve him with your heart. Not by the means they order you to serve. You came to us for the sake of your bond mate. To us that is an expression of faith. By the philosophy of Tau'va we have to entertain that request, for the bond of trust between two individuals is the basis of the Greater Good." Zou'han sipped his drink and licked his lips.

"All we ask, simply, is that you serve the Greater Good. It is NOT an anathema to the Imperial Creed, Guardsman." Ju'sufyin said with a curious tone. It sounded like begging, almost.

"Why? Why me?"

"Because you're the best counter-balance to Nigel Maine." Zou'han said. "And you're probably the only guardsman with the martial attributes to do so."

"Precisely. Your services for your bond mate's life. How do you humans like to say it: A deal, perhaps?" Ju'sufyin extended her hand.

"I'm bound." the Guardsman said.

"No one's asking you to shake her hand, Guardsman." Zou'han could scarce contain his laughter. "Place your forehead on it and recite the single phrase that ended Mont'au." The word Mont'au sent a shiver across the room. The two warriors stopped playing their lute and drum and peered curiously at the Guardsman for his next move.

"What is the oath?"

"It's not an oath, Guardsman." Ju'sufyin said. "But something that we say over the dinner table. Repeat after me: Come share the fruit of my labor."

The Guardsman did as he was told. He placed his head against the young alien's outstretched palm and recited the line. "Come…come share the fruit of my labor."

"And we will share your burdens of your toil." Zou'han and Ju'sufyin replied. "Dya'hosh zou'li, zon'san Dya'hosh."

"Tau'va osh'kalan'nar." The warriors echoed. The one that threatened to cut out his tongue drew his blade and severed the bonds. A stinging sensation went through the Guardsman's limbs as the blood coursed through the veins with ease once more.

"I suppose you're hungry? We have a Gue'vesa cook that might suit your tastes."

"I'm flattered." the Guardsman said. A plate of stringy meat on sticks were brought before him, along with a simple soup and a bowl of boiled cereal grains. The half-raw meats reminded the Guardsman of Boyle Young. _His infamous meat on sticks and pinkies._ "What do you mean by self-governance?"

"Tau'va above all. The rest is flexible."

"Even retaining our Imperial Faith?"

"Now, Guardsman," Ju'sufyin said as the Guardsman pushed aside the plate of meat on stick and went directly for the boiled grains. "So long as you discuss with us, we'd be happy to accommodate."

XXX

Maine paced around the Guardsman in his command bunk while Trance May lay curled across his seat mumbling local dialects. "I asked the damned gray skinned midgets for help. And they give me more trouble…"

"Maine, it's the bad man again…" Trance muttered as she tried to get up and leave. But Maine caught her and held her down.

"Don't worry, he's not here to eat you, my little disowned orphan." Maine groped at her breasts and pushed her back into the chair. "As you can see, Church, I am a very frustrated person. Morale has never been good. Even with the presence of Tau elites. The men had no will to fight. Nothing to live for. Maybe I could ask for a million girls of marriageable age."

"One should always lead by example." the Guardsman said.

"And I'm already doing so. Can't they see I'm camping out there with the stink-backs?" his bionic eye scanned him left and right.

"Can't your bond mate help with your situation? I've heard that you bought a clan Jun'zya for a bond mate. You should have the backing of an entire sub-continent on this planet."

"Help in what? She's half insane. Can't you see her eyes?" Maine picked his consort up and looked into her eyes. He found nothing there and shoved her back again. "Insanity is running rampant for some unknown reason. Her half brother Lansu started an internecine war after Trance was deposed as Jun'zya. The boy-maniac even killed his own father and four half brothers. Trance's mother hanged herself after being ravished by her son-by-name. My poor little orphan girl completely lost it when the news came. The men joke behind my back about her, and I send hundreds to walk the regiments every month. It's not working, Church."

"Ju'sufyin never mentioned anything about this."

"As the Tau like to say, they allow the humans self-governance. In fact, they're the biggest manipulators of their own adherents. They play the clans against each other or themselves if necessary." Maine spat. "If I could, I would have marched against the Mays and seized the clan stronghold. Then our men would have a nation. Can you believe that? Our own nation, right on this planet."

"So why haven't you done so?"

"Because the damnable Tau is keeping the weapons from us. Shas'o Hiyan'zuo is an anthrophobe and yet thinks he knows everything about humans. And then the Tau sent you to me. What a gift! Should I kneel down to you and beg for succor, ex-Major? Fuck this. The world had gone insane and it is contagious."

"Maine is not happy…" Trance sang a little tune. "His brains had gone sappy…"

Maine slammed the table and cursed. "Damnable Emperor. He must be behind this. I would tear him down the throne and trample his withered husk with my boots. Gods…help me…"

The Guardsman could scarcely believe it. The amoral mercenary was actually crying. He realized that he was never meant to be a counter against this man, but rather to help him back on his legs again. "Maine, I thought you were smarter."

"No, Church. I was never smart. I am lost. Alone. Weak. Pathetic. Worthless. I am nothing. My bond mate can't differentiate water from piss and had been acting like a public latrine when I took my eyes off her for two weeks. I hanged all those sorry bastards and gutted them myself. It's not working, Church. It's fucking NOT working! The men despises me and seek every opportunity to discredit me. Even when I worked so hard to save their fucking asses!" Maine flipped the table over and began smashing random things he could reach. Trance giggled and clapped her hands._ He's paranoid. He sees threat at every corner. He can't trust anyone. And he's clearly half insane as well._

"Reestablish the Commissariat and the Articles of Faith. The men need a Patriarch."

"Why bother? No one's afraid of Imperium damnation anymore. I started the corruption and now I am bearing the full load of it."

"Regardless. I would personally visit the survivors of the 97th. Bring and his wife had been caring for Essesohn."

"Essesohn is just as gone as Trance, Church. I took him out of the hellhole and the thrice-damned stench is still clinging on to me. It's a warped taint that can't even be washed off. Everything I touch becomes tainted. Everyone I know becomes insane. You'd probably go insane, too, Church. I know you will. Just wait and see."

"Don't lose yourself, Maine." the Guardsman picked the man up. "You've asked for help. Now I'm providing it. Have the officers gathered for formal address in 3 days. I will talk to them myself. I will make this an Imperial Army worthy of the Emperor's Name."

"Fuck your Emp…" before Maine could finish his line, the Guardsman gave him a strong swing across his face that sent him spinning and reeling. Trance jumped off her seat and cuddled her consort.

"As of now, the Imperial Name cannot be sullied. Though we strive for Tau'va, our Godhead is still the Emperor of Terra. It's the only means and option I see."

"Emperor! For the Emperor!" Trance squealed with excitement.

"And before I forget, I would like my aquila back, Maine." The Guardsman said.

"For what? So that you look like an authentic Ecclesiarch? What should I make you, Church?" Maine said through clenched teeth as he felt his sore jaw.

"Perhaps someone in charge of a real Church. Seigneur Sancta, I suppose. Seigneur Sancta Militant."

XXX

_She's always beautiful. _The Guardsman brushed aside the Maid's half-gold, half black locks and wiped her brow with clean towels soaked with a disinfectant and some soothingly sweet aromatic mixtures. Her lips trembled a little as if mouthing some words. The Guardsman leaned closer to hear it.

"Curse you, traitor." The Maid, however, was smiling. He kissed the Maid on her soft inviting lips.

"You said something that brought me back to the beach." the Guardsman looked directly into her lilac eyes. "And every single choice and contingency is based off that." He picked her up and sat her down on a chair to change the sheets. Even Rejuvenants could not save her legs. They had to be amputated. The shot through the liver had caused digestive problems and sometimes caused her skin to accumulate fluids. _Never squander the currency of life. _The Guardsman remembered the lessons of Mother Hysteria back in the Undercity. _Live every moment with joy in your heart. Surely the Emperor provides for all His Children. _

"Where would you go when the second and third wave arrive? There is no mercy for the traitor and collaborator." the Maid said. "I would kill you before the Inquisition does. For the likes of your kind, they would ensure that the suffering last a century."

"It's comforting to know what you'd do for me." the Guardsman replied.

"There's no judgment suitable for a heretic and traitor." She continued. "And I sin with every moment that I am with you. Why would you sacrifice your faith?"

"No one sacrificed his or her faith. I've been thinking about the truly faithful ones in the galaxy. I see more faith in priests that tried to keep the faith in the neglected and rotting undercity parishes. I see more faith in Mothers that sell their own flesh to keep their children alive. I see more faith in those that had nothing but yet give their own lives to the Imperium. It may be crude, tarnished or even carry the wrong interpretations, but it's what kept the Imperium going. Every fraction and decimal counts." The Guardsman said quietly.

"I don't care anymore…" the Maid felt the stumps that used to be her legs.

"Be brave, Iariss. They will give you a new pair. You will walk again."

"That is the least of my concerns. You are preparing for war against the Imperium, the one that nourished you and brought you up as a Guardsman."

"You say the Imperium, I see only the High Lords of Terra, cold and unfeeling. Mere vox-casts spouting articles of faith, repeaters of dictums and demagogues of lies." the Guardsman opened the window sills to allow the morning light penetrate the interior of the room. "The light of the Emperor has been obscured by their ineptitude and fanaticism."

"That would be heresy on the first count."

"Vandire said the same thing of Sebastian Thor." The Guardsman had accessed the history of the Imperium through the aliens. "We need to clean away the grime. Holy Terra is where we should go."

"You…you're not the Saint. You're nothing."

"No, Iariss. I'm not nothing. I'm a Guardsman, a living testament to the strength of humanity. Iariss. I'm an honorary Ecclesiarch now. A defender of the Faith."

"But still a traitor." the Maid smiled.

"So you say. My hands would be steeped in the blood of other traitors tomorrow." It was an ironical. Maine, despite his heedless behavior and vocal disowning of the imperial creed, turned out to be the one who required it most.

"I suppose you'd be restructuring the corrupted army, and use it to unify the locals?" the Maid knew about the Guardsman's plans even before he talked about it. _She's a calculating one as well._

"We have to set something right. Kinslayers should never be allowed to lead." the Guardsman thought about that Lansu whom he only met once. He could not really believe that the man would kill his own father and brothers or even to dishonor his own mother-by-name. Or maybe it was common practice amongst the clan leaderships. Perhaps a reason why Trance sought Maine out. She may have wanted to escape from the reality with an off-worlder, perhaps someone that seemed normal.

XXX

The officers gathered around the Guardsman and his clique of the ex-97th. Janus Bring, Boyle Young, Greg Boomer, Chris Bastion and Reeve Stoic were there. It was a meeting without Nigel Maine, superintended by the newly instead Seigneur Sancta Militant of Hugh Alpha. The fact that the title was endorsed by the Tau didn't bother them at all. The Guardsman took extraordinary care to appear as a clean and groomed member of the new Ecclesiarch. The Aquila, Iconia and Signifera dangled on his chest, while miniature copies of the Uplifting Primer and the _Chivalria Belli _hung from his belt. No one in the guards ever read the Chivalria. But it was a common find amongst the dead deacons and battle priests that littered the planet. The old grammar was intolerable and made it an impossible read.

"So I presume that everyone here was not too happy with Maine." the Guardsman started the discussion with an assumption.

"He's insane, Lord Seigneur Sancta!" an officer with all the fittings of a general shouted. "It was alright when he was first made the Duke General. But things got progressively worse after his supposed marriage with that woman. She started losing her mind after the marriage ceremony and Maine got progressively paranoid. He would execute people based on whim!"

"I talked to him. He's talking about how his woman was sleeping around."

"Bullocks! Who would dare touch anything that belonged to Maine? It's only an excuse to justify his mass executions."

"Why would he want to mass execute so many people?" the Guardsman was piqued. Maine was never a bloodthirsty brute. He may be a backstabber and an opportunist, but this style was completely not him.

"A female zealot sought him out in secret a while ago." Another officer added.

"Yes." _Iariss wanted to kill all traitors, starting with Maine who dared to violate her sanctity. _"It was the zealot's ploy to hook him and kill him. It failed, naturally, given that Maine is still alive. Truth be known, I don't think that is the case."

"Whatever the reasons, his little wife seemed to be enjoying it. The way the she-demon laughed and giggled as Maine sentenced them to be hanged and quartered disturbs me to no end." a brigadier spat. "He's killing us to please that warped beast. She needs to be exorcised." The discussion went off from there. The men started complaining about Maine's little Trance, and how she's actually a warp demon, eating the flesh and souls of the executed men in secret. Maine's accusation that the men were talking about his wife was true. _I may need some private time with Trance to get to the bottom of this. _After an hour-long discussion, the men were permitted to leave. Each was given a copy of the Uplifting Primer. The contents were edited under the supervision of Ju'sufyin. The Ethereal even knew how to read and write High Gothic. Even the Guardsman could not guarantee the same with Janus Bring or Greg Boomer.

"What do you guys think?" the Guardsman closed the sound proof bunker doors and looked at his own trusted clique.

"Well, Church, I mean, Lord Seigneur Sancta, there is something I have to tell you about most of the two million men we have here." Janus Bring said.

"They were under Fishpan." Boyle Young nodded.

"What's wrong with Fishpan? It's a weird name, for sure." The Guardsman knew he had missed far too many things.

"Fishpan was desperate to escape the planet. He was trying to open a terrestrial warp gate." Bring remembered. "Or at least that's what Maine told me. We scored a total victory that was never recorded before under the History of Orres. We forced the surrender of two million men in a single night."

"Well, Janus, those were Orresians you forced the surrender with. Two million Orresians were smashed and forced to surrender in a single night. But how would Fishpan open a warp portal?"

"He turned to the ancient deities and sacrificed hundreds of thousands of wounded men to some entity called Khorne…" Bring tried not to be too loud. The name of the deity came out as a whisper. But to the Guardsman it felt like a full-strength vox-cast right next to his ear.

"Was the portal ever open?"

"I don't know. I never seen it. Maine was one of the few men that went down there and rescued Essesohn. If anyone had seen the portal, it was Maine and Essesohn. Maybe a couple of others." Boyle Young said. "I was his driver that day."

"And Essesohn had already lost it." Bring shook his head.

"And Fishpan's inner circle and old officers? What happened to them?"

"Maine made sure they went to hell to face the Emperor's Judgment." Janus Bring said. "It was one of the few things he did that I could tolerate."

"Don't the men ever question where their wounded go?"

"Lord Seigneur Sancta, you have to realize that the surviving Guards of the Continental Theater were mad with starvation, and the fact that they were overburdened with the fleeing men from the Isthmus didn't help out too much either." Stoic said. "No one would care if there's less mouths to feed. If anything, they could have been eating dead bodies, too. Don't look disgusted. Such was the rule of war. When I was in Mossberg, we all thought that the Pincer Horrors we fought tasted good. And that feeling was probably mutual. They eat us, we eat them."

"How did Fishpan ever have access to these secret cults and knowledge to open a warp portal?" the Guardsman was most curious. "Is there a way to get to Fishpan's camp, or the remains of it?"

"Oh yes. Provided we can get back in. Another secret, Lord Seigneur Sancta." Janus Bring said. "It used to be the clan stronghold of the Mays when the Tau under Bai'Khos'un carried out the scorched Earth protocol to starve the Continental Theater out. Fishpan occupied it and had it rebuilt. Maine completely smashed it again and now the new Clan Patriarch is rebuilding it for a second time. All these smashing and rebuilding mean that we're not going to get a very good picture."

"But a picture nonetheless. All this in the face of impending invasion by the rest of our brothers." the Guardsman felt very tired. "The second and third waves were projected to enter warp space in two months time. Or at least that's what the aliens are projecting."

"Orresian shouldn't be forced to fight fellow Orresian. Mankind should not be made to turn his own blades against himself." Chris Bastion shook his head.

"Welcome to the Imperium, Bastion." Stoic said. "You'd soon realize that we're actually no better than Greenskins. So much as we laugh at them for their inter-tribal war, we carry it to an unprecedented level."

"What are Greenskins?" Bastion asked.

"Just be glad you never knew them." Stoic sighed. "Maine faced his fair share of them when he's a mere boy. I…I feel sorry for him."

"Then we have to get to the bottom of this." The Guardsman made his decision. "Get a list of regiments that we know we can trust and had the men screened. Young, you're good with figures and numbers and the best quartermaster I've ever seen. I want you to come up with a petition of required supplies that would be good for a major campaign against a local clan."

"You want to beat the Kinslayer?" Bastion asked. "Good. That monster deserves to be hanged and quartered."

"It's an easy war that would probably solve many of our problems. Trance probably wants vengeance for her parents. The fact that her own half-brother Lansu is the perpetrator could have driven her to the edge. Maine was probably too attached to her, or maybe he thought he's hearing voices in his head. It could have been the dark secret underneath the clan stronghold. Last but not least, I think the men deserve to have a real life and real wives. They deserve to be heroes that fought for Justice, Trust and Hope as dictated in the Primer."

"Kill the evil men and rescue their angelic wives!" Janus Bring laughed.

"Don't laugh, Bring. You already got a wife." Young reminded. "Lord Seigneur Sancta, isn't the original Primer talking about Intolerance and Hatred?"

"It still is. We have intolerance for oppression, injustice and unreason." the Guardsman spent many days working with Ju'sufyin to come up with the new creed. "We fight for a cause that is endorsed by our God Emperor. To eradicate evil and elevate Mankind to enlightenment."

"Sounds deep." Bastion said. "Mother Hysteria used to say that all the time."

"Yes she did…" the Guardsman sighed.


	21. Militants of Cloth and Lay

Chapter 021

"What is Maine doing?" the Guardsman said quietly, his eyes motioning towards the empty seat of the Duke General.

"Getting into his Trance…it's how he likes to put it, Church, I mean, Seigneur Sancta." Bring said.

"Doesn't he know that the entire army has to be reviewed?"

"He probably does, but he doesn't care." Young added. "His lunacy gets worse with every stunt that the crazy little bitch manages to pull off."

"Looks like we have to carry on without him. The Ecclesiarchy had always occupied a higher position than the lay. Militants of the Cloth had a tradition of commanding more respect in the Guards. It was something that the Ministorum spent millennia to indoctrinate." Stoic reminded, nudging the Guardsman to take the center-stage. "Look up. Look confident. We still have the backing of a Commissar."

"An absent minded one that probably don't know how to draw his saber. It's a bad idea." the Guardsman said under hushed breath. "I can't believe we even thought of that as a means. Essesohn should be recuperating in a peace."

"It's a brilliant plan." Young, the instigator of the entire baloney, chose to cut in. "Essesohn the Immortal will strike fear and discipline into these scum."

"Essesohn the Immortal…" the Guardsman thought about the barely functioning mortal shell of the once great Commissar. If the Orresian guards had a father, it had to be Essesohn. He was the soul of the millions of men made manifest. Straighter than a yardstick with a legendary toughness that would put a heavy battle tank to shame. If anyone could walk down the entire regiment without getting killed it would probably be him. His steely gaze could cut glass and caught every little detail. The Commissar was fair to the millimeter. No trespass or acts of valor, even the size of mere cereal grains, escapes his notice. Essesohn's justice put March's to shame.

The old guards looked on as the soldiers formed themselves up into squares in whatever parade gear they could get their hands on. For most regiments, only the front three ranks wore the formals. The Great Rout of the Isthmus theatre meant that millions of tonnes of supplies were strewn across the land. Neat uniforms were the last things that an ordinary soldier would bring. Even the standards had to be remade. Many of them were complimented with local sashes and the iconic pictographs that even the natives had forgotten. The common folk believed that they could confer supernatural powers to the bearer.

"It's a wonder that our tanks are still working." Stoic noted the armored companies rolling on solid treads to their respective positions. The hulls were refinished with alien Earth-caste provided alloy plates and boasted new paint jobs and pictograph seals that should technically grant the vehicle the protection of the Constellations.

"There's nothing wondrous about it." Boyle Young said. "Imperial designs are modular. And it has always been modular. We had to tear apart half a dozen tanks to know how it works, and some parts had dates going back to three centuries ago. We could reverse-engineer blue prints based on the components and Techno-Servitor memory banks. The Adeptus Mechanicus helped a great deal. To them, anything that serves the Omnissiah is a Brother, even if they are alien in origin. The alien Earth caste and locals under their tutelage provided the bulk of manpower and intellect. Reduced friction drive-shafts and purified power crystal containment units made the engine more stable and a lot more quiet, albeit with slightly less output."

"Please say something Gothic so I could understand." Bring interrupted.

"You won't understand a thing unless you learn how to read and write." Young countered before explaining things to an even greater detail. "We had to remove the original armor blocks. Those are basically tri-layer sandwiches of ultra-dense but radioactive alloys. Perhaps that was the reason for the Omnissiah's Possession and high probability of poisoned tumors amongst tank crews. Chemically inert cell-armor that locals and aliens can both mass-produce was used as a replacement. The final Leman Russ is thirteen tonnes lighter than the originals we have from Orres."

"And the damage output? Crew interface?" Stoic apparently knew what Young was talking about. The Guardsman could hardly catch on, but the conversation was still interesting.

"Much improved. There's an environmental control unit within the compartments and colloidal-foam fire suppressant reservoir." Young explained. "It's standard equipment that the Tau have on their vehicles. Given that most of their vehicle pilots are female, I guess they have to pamper them. We also have an escape hatch installed."

"Is this a pansy's army?" Bring scoffed.

"No. It's an army that cares for the soldiers." the Guardsman approved of all these modifications, even though they took place without his consent. Compared to the Imperium, the aliens respected their warriors sacrifice. He suddenly realized that even if the Imperium were to adopt "the Greater Good", nothing would even change. Guards will still be treated as decimals. Thousands would still die from faulty drop ships, improper containment pressures, unstable Promethium tanks or non-existent fire suppressant inside the tanks. Those higher up would give it a euphemism. "They died for the Greater Good" instead of "They died for the Emperor".

"Oh, shit." Young gasped. "The Backstabber is here."

"We're so toast." Bring agreed. The Guardsman realized that it was better if Maine never came. The Duke General was half naked and drunk on some intoxicating beverage. Trance was barely clothed, wrapping her lithe limbs around her bond mate and donning a crown of flowers on her head.

"Church! I wasn't aware that you'd make it on time. Trance wanted to have some fun first." Maine laughed hysterically, his bionic pupil widened and narrowed without a clear sense of order. "Anyway, here's a list of names. Have them dragged out and shot on the square. Trance told me they've been looking at her strange." The duke general threw the Seigneur Sancta a pad with a long list of at least ten dozen names before smothering his face into Trance's breasts. The coiled lovers sat down heavily on the great seat. The Guardsman turned his head away while the soldiers below the erected platform stared and ogled. Apparently this was not the first time that Maine did something as shameless as this.

"Roast them slowly, Nigel. They have threatened to gang on me." Trance whimpered like a wounded sheep.

"Of course, my little Trance. Anything for my poor orphan queen." Maine could hardly form his words.

"Was Henson Model as distasteful as this? Did the Younger Model do anything of similar caliber?" the Guardsman browsed through the names while quietly asking Stoic.

"No. If he did, the Commissariat would have done the job with ease. March wouldn't even need to be there. The red-uniformed stone eaters would probably have him shot on the spot." Stoic sighed.

"What are you doing, old man?" Maine shouted as he tried to push Trance away. "Stop interfering with the business of the Seigneur Sancta. He has heretics to purge!"

"No, no, no." Trance chorused. "Don't make Nigel angry!"

"Get Essesohn, Chur…I mean, Lord Seigneur Sancta." Bring said. "It's the best way to get rid of this loon."

"Right. March the Commissar out onto the dais. Maine would probably recognize him." the Guardsman said exasperatedly as he threw away the list of names. "Men of Orres! Hail the Lord Commissar Essesohn! Essesohn of Cadia! The Immortal! The One-armed iron-hand of Justice!" the Guardsman's powerful voice blared through the audience square.

"Hail Lord Commissar Essesohn!" the men echoed in unison. Their response shook even the platform. Several years had passed since the men were personally reviewed in such a great gathering by a figure respected by all. The enthusiasm had not dampened. At least that was comforting to know. Chris Bastion led the squinting Commissar out, his mechanical fingers twiddling the handle of his saber nervously. _Don't fail us, Lord Commissar. The Guards need you._

"Impossible!" Maine spat as he stood up, allowing Trance to fall to the ground in a heap. It was a vulgar sight. "Impossible! Church! I made you a Seigneur Sancta! Not a resurrectionist! Essesohn is gone! His mind is gone!"

The old guard of the 97th paid Maine no heed. The Guardsman nodded to them as they carried out the oft rehearsed stage-play. The Lord Commissar was led to the inspection dais. The view was breathtaking. The surviving Guards of Orres that were still in fighting capacity stood with their heads held high. The presence of the lone Commissar silenced the entire cohort.

"Atten--tion!" Stoic bellowed. As a man used to a position of authority gave his thunderous command through the vox. "Men of Orres, proudest of the Emperor's sons, salute those that were given the divine right to lead! Hail the Seigneur! High Lord and Protector of our Faith!"

The men smashed their heels together and raised their right hand to their brow. The Guardsman now knew what it felt like to be Potemnus VIII, looking down at men that appeared to be as big as beetles at this distance. He returned the honors and recited an article from the revised Primer: "Ye Protectors of the Weak and Innocent! Brave ones who throw your feeble mortal self against the brutality of war! Crusaders who fight to end all bloodshed! The Emperor blesses your souls, your armor, your swords and your guns!"

"Hail the Seigneur!" the men replied. Essesohn's lips trembled. _The sight is scaring him. _The Guardsman began to worry.

"Pathetic! These Guards are the trash of Orres!" Maine shouted. "Set up the pyres! Have the heretics burning! I want to see them scream!"

"Do you think we enjoy eating stones, Nigel Maine of the 1st Company?" The unmistakable tone that terrified with its monotonous judgment followed the singing of a fine Cadian blade. Essesohn's gray eyes glared as the command sword made a precise scratch on Maine's neck. "Indecency, abuse of superior rank, insubordination before the Ecclesiarch and disruption of formal review. You are guilty on all counts. Seize him."

"Forgive me, Duke General." Janus Bring chuckled as he proceeded to disarm Nigel Maine. It would be a wonder if Maine was even armed given that he was only clothed in his undergarments, but Bring would seize any opportunity to humiliate his long time nemesis. Maine's own loyalists dared not move. The sight of the Commissar nailed them to the ground. It was the results of conditioning to a Commissar's superior presence. _It is working._

"No! Don't touch my Nigel! You heretics! Pawns of the throne!" Trance squealed as Reeve Stoic bundled her up in a great coat and had her dragged away by other guardsmen. Janus Bring kicked Nigel Maine at the back of his knees and made him sprawl on all fours. The Commissar repeated what he had done to Stoic years earlier. He smacked the disgraced soldier across his face and kicked him squarely in the chest with his hard shiny boots. Maine never fought back. He simply whimpered and wept.

"Pathetic cringing lot!" Essesohn grabbed Stoic's vox-cast and blared into the receiver. "I see why you are all mere shadows of your glorious selves. You've been led by a boy who thinks that he is a man. I pass his sentence now! He should taste his own poison! Prepare the 11th! Maine will walk the regiment that nurtured him!"

No one dared make any voice as the Commissar condemned the Duke General. The banners of 11th fluttered as the block of four hundred odd men marched forward. They were all that was left of Mode's eight thousand. Not one of the 13 Majors survived save Reeve Stoic and Nigel Maine. The quartermaster brought forth large chests of scourges. Each soldier took their own as they lined up into two neat rows. The Lord Commissar took a ceremonial rifle and escorted Maine to the start of the regiment. He held the rifle under his arm, the barrel and bayonet pointing to the rear. Janus Bring trailed behind, sandwiching Maine between two gleaming blades.

"Was this rehearsed?" Chris Bastion asked quietly.

"No. I think we woke Essesohn again." the Guardsman said worriedly. The drummers started their roll. Janus Bring jabbed Maine with the bayonet and urged him forward. The scourge came down methodologically. The cracks were oddly loud and muffled the painful grunts. Maine faltered after two hundred lashes and collapsed to the ground. By tradition, he would be bayoneted after 5 drum rolls if he didn't get back up.

"Not wise, Church. You should interfere." Young pointed out the importance of the hated duke general. "He used to be an excellent soldier. And plus, his bond with Trance May is a legitimate claim over the subcontinent."

"I don't think he's finished yet." Stoic knew more about Maine's physical capability than most. The lacerated figure climbed back to his feet after the third drum roll and trudged on. The men still swung their scourge without mercy. The hatred for Maine ran deep and rampant. Essesohn never harried the process. It would seem that he was enjoying every moment. Throughout his years of service in the Imperium, the extended execution was the most unbearable to the Guardsman, even though no one ever made it past the first ten companies. After what seemed like hours, the Commissar turned around and shouldered the ceremonial rifle. Janus Bring, however, stared in disbelief. Maine had reached the end of the regiment. _Maybe the 11__th__ was massacred down to less than five hundred men to spare Maine. _The Guardsman didn't know why he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Private 1st class…Nigel Maine...reporting for duty, Lord Commissar." Maine saluted weakly. It was his last words of the day. This time he collapsed for a good while.

XXX

And as usual, Essesohn summoned the Guardsman to the new Commissariat that used to be Maine's Command Bunker. The title of the Duke General was dissolved. The entire army of two million would be led by the Seigneur Sancta and the Lord Commnissar.

"Surprised, Guardsman?" Essesohn raised his first question. "Or should I say, self-appointed Ecclesiarch?"

"Yes, Lord Commissar." _What had made him return to us?_

"It all swam back to me. Something I tried to forget." Essesohn sighed. "As long as the victories keep coming, I never thought I would need to worry about it. Survival in defeat is the worst thing that can happen to the Commissar. His entire existence is called into question."

"They said that Fishpan captured you."

"Oh, yes. The demon-enticed fool thought he could rescue millions of men from certain destruction. Demands that he met were repeatedly increased, inflated and made virtually impossible. In the end, the monstrous entity said that it would only save five. In truth, none of Fishpan's cronies were worthy. The demon made a fool out of the guards. It made us kill each other while it gorged on our unfortunate souls." Essesohn looked at the new Orresian banner. An aquila with its wings spread across four pictographs. Sigils of strength, invincibility, death and honor.

"What happened all this while?" the Guardsman allowed curiosity to get the better of him. "How did you overcome the void of the mind?"

"It's the past, Guardsman." Essesohn replied. "I am the son of Esse. You should have noticed that from my namesake."

"Was…was your father famous?"

"Yes, he was. But I had never seen my father alive. I was admitted to the Schola Progenium in recognition of his previous achievement, so I assume he martyred himself for the Emperor. The true manner of his death was kept from me. Under Imperial Tutelage, you have only one true Father – the Immortal God Emperor of Man. You did well to forget about your biological parents. You fail when you cry for them. And failure is never tolerated." the gray Commissar opened a neatly folded regional map and began doing some preliminary calculations and planning.

"What happened?"

"You learnt to question the Commissar. Impressive, Guardsman." Essesohn remarked. "Lord Commissar Zbrensk was my mentor. An old aging Commissar. Death can come from any corner and any crevice, Guardsman. Never let your youth delude you into fascinations of invincibility."

"What of Lord Commissar Zbrensk? Was he killed by an unexpected bullet or…"

"A knife. People crack under pressure, Guardsman. Zbrensk was killed by a most promising student. It wasn't me, Guardsman. I was a nobody in the Schola. At that time I only referred to only by a number. It was 41223, to be precise."

The Guardsman was silent. He could not find any words suitable to describe his feelings. Truth tends to be shocking. The Schola Progenium was known to be a brutal institution. But students killing their own instructors occurred to him as outright terrible and impossible.

"It should have been me. Zbrensk was expecting me to be the potential traitor. And he probably regretted his misjudgment. Commissars are just fallible like men. We only fail less often. But failures are still failures. He never expected the best hope of the Commissariat to turn against him. Such was the machination of his faulty imagination. The traitor had all outwardly signs of a saint. His heart, however, bled dark, filthy ichor of a lowborn trash, undeserving of the Emperor's grace. I knew it in my guts. But I was already marked as a traitor since my birth, Guardsman. All their unfriendly attention was on me. The beast-man could have killed more if I weren't there."

"You were there? And why would they suspect you?"

"Suspicions require no reason and mine was more obvious and logically justified. I had disciplinarian issues and had just undergone corrective reeducation. It's something that no sane man would go through for a second time, just to let you know. The traitor planned it longer than a while. Kill Zbrensk and those that his master had marked. I would be the good scapegoat. He would plant the evidence on me. My motive would be revenge on the harsh sentence. Very convenient and very logical. He gets away, becomes a Commissar, and spreads his terrible taint to the Guards. But I wasn't the prey, Guardsman. I was the hunter. I was ready for him."

"How? You knew his plan all along?"

"It wasn't that hard to figure out when you know what you're doing. Sneaking around looking for extra crumbs and morsels had always been my specialty in my youth. My prey had other Gods. Ancient, powerful and malevolent beings that he prayed for strength and protection. The corrective reeducation was a baptism of strength and a personal victory for me. It gave me the clarity of mind to plan my own trap. I took my time, Guardsman, thinking like my prey right to the very place he would kill Zbrensk. Traitors that kill their father figures don't deserve a good clean death. I shot him here, here and here." Essesohn pointed to the thighs, mid-torso and upper arm. "The foul beast had loyalty to whatever monstrous master he served. He bit his own tongue and swallowed it. I was hoping they question him thoroughly. Perhaps expose more potential traitors hidden within our ranks. I dedicated my life on killing these base lives from that point and have to confess that I am very good at it. To the point that sometimes my trigger finger did the thinking."

"About your lineage, the traitor and Zbrensk, there was something that tied them up together?"

"Zbrensk was the man that killed my Father, Guardsman." Essesohn tried to smile again, but his lips trembled and his voice quavered. "Zbrensk, so much for his harshness, was the one that represented the father figure in my life. I have never seen my Father, the ex-Lord Marshal Esse Zenheusen. As the other cadres came in and apprehended me, Zbrensk used his last moments in life in my defense and to tell me the truth. I am Essesohn, descended from the Traitor of Junos-Kappa. Esse Zenheusen who attempted to use a hundred thousand men under his command to seize the planet he was supposed to save. He believed he could make a better General Militant. He was stupid to think that the Commissariat would go along. Esse's revolt was over in twelve minutes. A gamble that destroyed a decade of distinguished service."

The Guardsman was silent. He did not know what to say next.

"Zbrensk was everything, Guardsman. Esse Zenheusen was a poisonous taint on the Imperium. The name Essesohn was both a curse and a punishment. Ugly scars on my namesake. I soon realized I could bring terror and honor to the name with the help of the Emperor. I am good at what I am doing and I enjoyed every moment of it. I killed hundreds of fools who would rather have an extra two seconds of life as opposed to martyrdom that honors his name for eternity. I failed Zbrensk when I was defeated by Fishpan. And now I suppose you have come to gloat?"

"We still fight for the Emperor." the Guardsman tried hard not to argue back. _You are the one that summoned me in the first place._

"We all do. Now tell me, what blasphemy have you weaved exactly? You warped the Primer. You created a major Heresy. Now every righteous being in the Imperium of Man would hunt you down like the dog you are." Essesohn circled a few hills with a red marker with an air of nonchalance. "Now you're probably wondering why I chose not to shoot Maine on the spot, or why I chose not to shoot you either."

"No, I am wondering what happened to your mind all that time?"

"Hmph. I suppose you want to know about the psyche. I was basically reliving my memories, swimming through all the other alternatives to choices I have made in my life so far. To be sure, I am very proud of all the choices except one. That took a while. I had already recovered by the time I saw you with the broken Ordo Militant on the beach. My honest intentions were to continue my sorry existence in peace. Let the world forget about Essesohn the ex-Lord Commissar. I do not talk to heretics or heedless morons, and hence people still think I lost it. That is until your devious quartermaster Boyle Young decided to dress me in the garbs of red again. Putting me in front a heap of two million trash bags that sound like soft-legged half-men who could not even sustain an erection for two seconds. Hypno-conditioning and the fondness of my great deeds with the Guards! That's what did it! It was damn fucking clever! I enjoy being with the lowest common denominator and the dregs of Mankind! I enjoy leading them against impossible odds! I enjoy showering them in blood and pieces of themselves and that of their foes! To see them triumph and howl above the piled bodies of their slain! This is the addiction of War!"

The faith crisis had infected all. Even Essesohn was not spared. "Where does the Emperor come in?"

"Hah! Every major denomination of the Imperium Cult has their interpretations. The cowardly pacifists that we marked for heresy think He is a Deity of Gentle Kindness. To the Commissariat, the Emperor is the Intolerant God of War. Intolerant of Peace, Treason and Cowardice. War is the single most benevolent act of Man. War cleanses the dredges and moulds them as obedient servants of the Imperium. War uplifts the criminal and makes him the defender of Mankind. We are the extensions of His Unforgiving and Uncompromising nature The Commissariat! Demons of His Wrath donned in red and peaked caps! Executioner at the ready! Traitors down the barrel! Bang! No quarter given! No questions asked!" Essesohn ranted like a madman as he drew big arrows leading to the various cities on the map. "Stones for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Hearts of iron and mind of steel. Controller of mob psyche and overseer of the glorious pastime we call War! The Emperor is War! War is our Emperor!"

Those last lines of Essesohn reverberated through the command bunker. "What of Nigel Maine?"

"Do you think I enjoy shooting children, Guardsman?"

"No…not in any chance."

"Maine is a mere child. The prima-decas and storm troopers throughout the Imperium were all trained and conditioned to be that way. None of them were trained to lead. All of them were trained to obey and they get great kicks out of it. Think of them as somewhat clever little boys with better and flashier equipments who look upon his superiors as Gods. They're all hypno-sensitized to behave that way and operated on the head to make sure it sticks. Maine is no exception. Take away the superiors and team-mates and they would feel lonely. Their psyche would fall apart sooner or later. Maine had it worse. He was in a position of power. And that position is the loneliest in the galaxy. He behaved just as one expected. Ever thought of putting a boy on the seat of a General Militant and then telling him that he could do whatever he wanted? Well, you've got Maine. The Commissariat does not shoot children. That is the job of the Astartes, the Ordo Militant and scumbags like you. We have different operating protocols when it comes down to specialized storm troopers."

"But Maine hated his superiors, even the Emperor."

"Have you ever seen an oft-disciplined child that spoke well of their stern fathers?" Essesohn screwed the tops back onto the markers. "Of course not! But it doesn't mean that they don't love their Fathers. In fact, they need their Fathers more than ungrateful men like the scum you represent, Guardsman. The true men in the entire Guards are the rank and file troops we treat as fodder. And we all know that you are the most dangerous of all. It's the reason why the Imperium is hesitant in equipping you with the best. Children don't revolt. They merely throw tantrums. Men revolt. Men betray. And worse of all, Men think too much. Men would sell their own wives, daughters and mothers for a mere fraction of a cent."

"Maine's tantrums killed hundreds…"

"And the revolts of Men killed billions. Get the numbers right, Guardsman, before you try to argue with me." Essesohn harrumphed. The Guardsman knew that the Lord Commissar was truly back again. The old, uncompromising and philosophically aggressive stone-eater in red. "Now onto the reasons why I chose not to kill you."

"Why?"

"Because I think you're probably the only one smart enough to discuss this at length with me. The war killed most of the schooled gentry-elites. All the officers we have on our hands right now probably could not even write a proper sentence, much less understand a complex battle plan." the Commissar shot out his hand and grabbed the Guardsman by his collar, dragging his head close to the heavily decorated map. Essesohn had provided three possible attack plans on Clan May's subcontinent state with standard Guards counter notation down to regimental level.. "Now don't tell me you don't get a thing, because that would give me a reason to shoot you. And I do look forward in using my Executioner again."

XXX

Just as the Guardsman had predicted, the call to war was straightening out the wrinkles across the minds of the once-depressed men. Ju'sufyin's personal entourage came rather unexpectedly without prior notification. She still had an air of absolute calm demeanor along with her water caste advisor Zou'han, but her warrior retainers behaved otherwise. _Clearly agitated with an aggressive body language. _

"Gue'vesa Shas'ui, I did not give you the position to start a war against our allies! Do you humans enjoy killing each other so much?" Ju'sufyin questioned. _Ineloquence. She is exasperated with the recent turn of events. _

"I have gone along with your generous and thoughtful addition to our Faith. The Men had read your words, and they clamor for the might of justice." the Guardsman had only managed to be dressed in his most impressive formals. He always had three suits pressed and ready to be donned at a moment's notice. Flanking him were the Old Guard and the Lord Commissar himself who never left his side.

"Hmm?" Ju'sufyin looked left and right. "We are the ones who decide if you go to war with guns or with sticks and stones. What did you tell them, Shas'ui? Did you also twist my words to suit them? Where is Shas'ui Maine?"

"Maine had some psychological problem caused by previous surgery and has to recuperate."

Shas'o Hiyan'zuo said something in Ju'sufyin's ears. The Ethereal narrowed her gaze and whispered something back. It was something that even the translator could not decipher. The aliens had retained a degree of secrecy when discussing matters that demand covert details. "I had hoped you help him in the restructuring of the Guards. Not to start a war against a Gue'vesa clan or to depose him from his power."

"Maine is not suited for sole-commanding leadership. And it is not us who are the aggressors, Ethereal. We act under the Pursuit of the Tau'va and Justice. Trance is the Jun'zya and the rightful Pan'fu of the Mays. The seat does not belong to the kinslayer and incestuous man-thing that gluts itself on the flesh of his own kin." the Guardsman explained. "Trance's plight had moved the Guards. We must avenge her."

Zou'han, being the master manipulator that he was trained to be, nodded in a pretense of acknowledgment: "That is true, Shas'ui. But the former Pan'fu had removed Trance from her inheritance."

"The late Saan-Ul was killed by his own bastard son. Should we allow this man-beast to be comfortable on the seat of power or the previous heir that made no mistake apart from taking Maine as her bond-mate? It is abhorrent to the Greater Good that the Selfish Murderer begets the fruits of labor that his own kin had fought for. The kinslayer must be taken down from his lofty seat." _Use the Tau'va against them, for surely every being bows before the Greater Good. _

"Even the archaic laws of the Imperium does not tolerate this. Are you telling the Guards that kin-slaying is oft-practiced amongst the Tau? Does that explain your inaction?" Janus Bring provided the vitriolic reply. Shas'o Hiyan'zuo cursed in his Sept-dialect and would have pounced if the Ethereal had not gently placed her hands on the shoulder of the alien commander.

"We do not tolerate the kin-slayer. Such beings are an affront to the very principle of Reciprocity." Ju'sufyin countered with a pragmatic argument. "But your priority is to prepare the guards against the incoming Imperium reinforcements. I would not have the Gue'vesa engaged in another civil war while the Imperium arrive in their millions."

"The Guards would not fight alongside treacherous filth." the Guardsman retorted. "You must realize that you're keeping a dangerous and ambitious man-thing that knows not honor or loyalty. And the other clans of Demos, Yvan, Cuin, Zuoya, Ulleying and Fiojos would take the inactivity of the Tau as condoning such a crime. It does not bode well into the future."

"You seem to look further than all of us, Shas'ui." Zou'han smiled. "But your position is somewhat… how should I put it…similar. You also betrayed your Emperor to serve the Greater Good."

"Nay. The Greater Good is our Emperor. The Emperor is the Greater Good. Tolerate not the selfish profiteer who betrays the community for his own sake. Straight from our Holy Primer."

"Clan May knew of your intentions. They are prepared. More than three million men under arms, complete with armored support, air coverage and long range strike capabilities. You are outnumbered and outgunned. And the Mays are known for their mettle and honor." Zou'han tried to intimidate the guards into giving up the enterprise. _Unfortunately, diplomat, we already knew this. _

"Honor means nothing to the warrior who knows that he is fighting for an evil cause. Lansu's personal clique number no more than half a million. The rest joined only because he claimed the title of Pan'fu." the Guardsman replied. "But we have the rightful heir. And we must destroy Lansu for Justice and Tau'va to prevail."

"You talk about the Tau'va as though you own it." Ju'sufyin hissed angrily. It was the first time that the Guardsman saw her enraged. The Ethereal turned around and left without another word. The other Tau around her were caught in a moment of surprise and rushed after her with a meekness that even the Guardsman found surprising.

"I take that answer as a clear cut no." Janus Bring quietly said as the hovercraft took off and left. The Guardsman felt defeated. _I messed the entire thing up. The Tau are still playing us like pawns. _


	22. The Curse of the Mays

Chapter 022

The figures swam in front of her. Beads of cold sweat ran down the brows of Trance May as she tried to shield her eyes in vain. The images came from her mind and memories. Things that she never wanted to remember.

"No…my bloodline is not cursed. I have found an off-worlder to love as my bond mate. I should have ended it right there." Trance muttered as her eyes spied through the gaps between her fingers. Everything was there, the common memory and history of the Mays, starting from the Descent to the Great Learning.

As she opened her eyes again, she saw her father, the proud Saan-Ul, marching into the inner palace with a band of battle hardened warriors. Grandfather was there, sitting on his throne in full regalia. Bila-Sun of May, the great Marshal that led his clan to dominate the entire sub-continent, still had the eyes of a serpent. The beady small eyes that narrowed as he studied his own son, and that incestuous product known as his own grand-daughter, mothered by his favorite concubine.

"You have done the Mays a great disservice." Bila-Sun said. He did not budge from the throne.

"You are the one who is going to doom us all, father." Saan-Ul's men brought forth a strip of linen, a knife and an urn of cool alcoholic beverage. "Forget about your guards. You sent them to the borders against clans Yvan and Demos. The men have served three consecutive growing seasons. Fields are overtaken by weed, and entire villages lay empty and silent. People starve and yet you expect their tithes to be paid on time."

"Tithes to be paid on time so we will crush the Yvan and Demos! Brainless brat! I did not conquer for myself! I conquer for the Mays such that our might extend from the mountains to the coast! Once Yvan and Demos are gone, our lands swill stretch beyond the hills and desert! Ours would be the world! And now you betray your own father? For what? To submit before the Xenos?"

"Hah! You talk as if we are gaining victory! The Xenos have come like a tide of impenetrable armor and blithering blue fire. They are Gods amongst mere mortals like us! They had crushed our last offensive. Even Khosam-May with his possessed armor was no match for their massive guns. The heads of our dead were lobbed into our forts by the hundreds. Tens of thousands of our troops are deserting each day. Our great retainer houses had already come to realize that winning is mere fantasy. Surviving is our prerogative."

"Fool!" Bila-sun spat. "I have rights to govern this world by the Emperor's Will! I am the holder of the great Seal! That which come from Heaven itself! Handed down through the generations to the most worthy and benevolent of men! I am Bila-sun, bearer of the Immortal Will of the Stars!"

"You are nothing! You expect the men to believe in the millennium-old superstition like that?" Saan-Ul hushed the clan patriarch. "Recognize your impotence. A new age had dawned upon us, whether we like it or not. Living fossils should return to where they rightfully belong. Choose your fate, Father."

"Your aunt warned me of your treachery. I only regretted not listening to her."

"If only you had listened more to your women, or learn how to keep secrets in front of them." Saan-Ul laughed. "The slave girl that you captured as a war price told me everything. She gave me a Child of Prophecy. I will make her queen."

"I would not enter the Halls of the Dead as a hungry ghost. At least give me a meal fitting of a Pan-fu." Bila-sun resigned to his fate.

"I am sorry, father. I can't wait." Saan-Ul denied the request.

"A cup of water would do. Entertain the old man's last request."

"Men, help the Pan-fu. Make sure it is painless." Saan-Ul's heart was harder than meteoric iron. The tent marshals and closest advisors in their patterned scales answered their liege's order. Two dragged the old patriarch down from his seat and held him still while a second pair wrapped the linen around his neck and gave it a sudden jerk. The new Patriarch sat on the throne while soldiers dragged the dead one away. Armored men in their feathered and gaudy carapaces knelt in unison and declared their new allegiance.

"Saan-Ul May!" a lone voice echoed from the rear. It was a smooth faced man, but dressed in the garbs of a court lady and his face heavily powdered.

"Ah, the late Pan'fu's pretty little boy." Saan-Ul cleared his throat and addressed the new challenge. "What? Are you going to spread your hips for me as well, clown? I have no liking of men. Remove yourself from my sight or I will bury you alive with our ex-Pan'fu."

"I am already prepared for death, kinslayer." the man answered. "I fear nothing. I curse you. By the Will of the Imperium I curse you. Every last one of your lineage. Your own son will come to slay you just as you did to your own father, and your own son will ravish your wife just as you ravished your mother. Do not gloat, ye helpers of the kinslayer! You will all perish like the human beasts you are, slain in cold blood, bleeding your own heart out. For you have all betrayed your liege, and the Heavens do not look kindly upon treason!"

"That slave girl is my mother? She's younger than me, clown. A war trophy that Clan Jin-Ol'sing gave as tribute to save themselves from extinction. A war trophy that deserved better – to sit alongside me and decide what to do with you."

"Kill him." a soft female voice echoed from the back of the throne.

"As you wish, my queen, my Sin'Yaring." Saan-Ul brushed aside the annoyance as easily as one flips a page of a book. The boy-love didn't stop his cursing. A soldier pulled out a dagger and thrust the blade into his mouth, crudely twirling it around before flipping out a mangled piece of flesh. The words became indistinct and the blood flowed like a river down his neck.

"Shameful." Saan-Ul shook his head. "Have the place cleaned. Today we feast. Tomorrow we make peace, and submit ourselves to the Great Learning and Tutelary! We submit to the Greater Good!"

"Long live Saan-Ul of May! Pan'fu of the May! The bearer of the Imperial Seal!" the men chorused and cheered. Saan-Ul held out his hand and beckoned to Trance. The young toddler could hardly walk and she struggled up the stairs, half-climbing and panting. She was pulled up by the strong hands of her father and held high above the crowd.

"The Child of Prophecy! The clown knew a bit of that, and thought a male-heir will kill me. Hah! It is a girl who will inherit my throne!" Saan-Ul laughed.

"Long live Trance of May!" the men cheered. It didn't matter who ruled. All were afraid of the Prophecy, etched on the unearthed Giant of Stone. It predicted the Age of Fragmentation and the Great Wars of Strife. It helped the May to assume an air of Divine Blessing and brought the entire subcontinent under their rule. But it also predicted that the Mays were doomed to turn against each other until the Child of Prophecy was born. The Great Tyrant would be slain by a piece of three yard linen, and the Child, a mix of high-blood gentry and low-born slave, would lead the May to dominance and an enlightened era of Great Peace, Unity and elevate them beyond the heavens and stars to realize their true destiny.

But the boy-lover of Bila-Sun tore free from his powerful handlers with superhuman strength. His blood spilled all over the floor as he ran across the audience chamber and bellowed out his final words with a clarity that should have been impossible: "That cursed daughter of yours! That product of incest! She will thrash in the depths of hell, a whore for a million wretched souls! Her belly will burst with the filthy seeds of criminals and shambling demons! She is no Child of Prophecy! She is a mere slave brought forth by the foul sin of a son against his mother! The traitorous wife of Bila-Sun will be raped by her own son! By the Emperor I condemn you all to the depths of the Judgment Hall!"

A shot rang out from the back. Half of the men tumbled backward, shocked by the loud report. All of them were surprised that someone from the harem owned the divine-possessed device that came from the accursed Halls of the Grand Architects. Novel and sublime weapons that pronounced the curse of the Heavens and tore men apart like rag dolls. It was the gun and the powder of Divine Fury.

"Stuff his mouth and bury him face down. Cover the body with a layer of filth and mark the grave as cursed. Men, women and child shall walk past him and spit upon it." Saan-Ul passed judgment even to the afterlife. "That should soothe you, my queen."

"I want his entire clan sought out and executed, and treated likewise." The woman's voice was filled with fear. The young girl looked back. From the smoking hole in the screen she could see the faint outline of her face. It was her Mother. The beautiful Sin'yaring that her Father promised would love her more than anything else.

XXX

Trance woke up in her confinement cell. The chamber had been thoroughly reorganized without her knowledge. Ju'sufyin, the young Ethereal, sat on her bed with a look of concern. Her four fingered hand brushed aside her hair and a young nurse dressed her self-inflicted wounds and cuts.

"Trance May, good Gue'vesa and adherent to the Tau'va, can you please tell your Ethereal what is wrong?" Ju'sufyin said as she personally took a cup of cool water from an aide and gently tipped the fluids into her mouth.

"It's…it's the curse." Trance stammered. "It's all etched on the Giant of Stone."

"Superstition and unfounded belief. You must base on your judgments on rational proof."

"The clown…the dressed up clown…he predicted the death of all those that helped my Father to his throne. And they all died." Trance sobbed. "They all did. None of them escaped. Our bloodline is cursed. I know I am no Child of Prophecy. I am a product of an incestuous coupling."

"No, child. Your biological father and mother were unrelated by blood." Ju'sufyin comforted the stricken woman. "Do not let this affect you too much."

"We are all cursed! I sought an off-worlder to love me and gave up my girlhood! I wanted to be disowned to escape the damnation! And it still happened! Lansu killed Father! Lansu raped Mother! And Lansu will have all his men tear me apart!" Trance cried. She then realized that the water must have contained something mysterious. It cleared her mind and soothed her anxieties.

"You are safe with us, child." Ju'sufyin nodded as she tipped the cup onto Trance's lips again. "Tell me more about Lansu, your brother."

"He…he was…is my brother." Trance mumbled. "He was my best friend. He was the first born son of my Father, and for that my Father hated him. He executed Lansu's mother for giving birth to a son. And then Father started having other sons, as though the Heavens played a joke on him. But then Father started defying the Heavens. He laughed about it and cursed it so that people can see that Saan-Ul fear no Prophecy. He knew that people would abandon him if he started killing every son he has. But the Prophecy still claimed its victim. Why? Why did Lansu fulfill it? He could have walked away and destroyed the Prophecy!"

"I am aware of that Prophecy of yours. It is the reason why I have brought a friend." Ju'sufyin beckoned forth a withered figure carried onto a seat by Tau warriors. He was a gibbering fool that mouthed non-sense and looked around like a snooping rat.

"I…I know you! The Child of Prophecy!" the man laughed as he stretched out his hand. It made Trance jump with fear.

"No! Get him away! I don't want to see him!" Trance screamed.

"Haha! Fear me! I killed your Grandfather Bila-Sun! I was the one that jerked the three yard linen!" the old man laughed, showing his missing teeth. "Your Father Saan-Ul enjoyed his share of the Prophecy, aye? Hahaha! Good riddance!"

"Ju'sufyin, remove him! Don't let him touch me!"

"Haha! Killed by the Machinations of something he made! Saan-Ul never saw this coming! Yes! We made the Giant of Stone! Gufen'To the Manipulator masterminded the entire scheme! He coerced the Pan'fu to use superstition to rally the men. We believed in Gods of War and Honor! Of Blood and Plague! All acting at the bidding of the Immortal God Emperor! Yes we did!" the old man cracked and made some crude prayer gestures. "We thought it was all bullocks. We thought we could play the Gods! And so the Giant was cast. Saan-Ul the Great composed the Prophecy himself. I etched it on the Giant's chest and back! But the clown knew better than all of us! He knew our end! He knew it all! Saan-Ul betrayed us! The Pan'fu promised us riches! He promised to make us into Great Households! He promised to marry our daughters and join our blood with his! Yes, he did everything, and then killed us one by one! He destroyed the Old Ways! He ruled lonely, without his bond brothers and honored retainers! But one of them lived! Yes he did, and he spends all day making new Prophecies!"

"We found him in your Sacred Grove." Ju'sufyin said softly into the wide-eyed Trance. "He had covered a cliff-face with your local language. General non-sense about demons, gods, palaces in the sky and the True Child of Prophecy. In fact, we found the Guardsman named Church there as well. This old man had nursed him for a while."

"You mean…you mean everything about the Giant of Stone is fabricated?" Trance asked slowly, apprehensive of the answer.

"You mean fabricated? Hah! You don't know the Gods! We were meant to create the Prophecy and act on it! Saan-Ul is nothing compared to the Gods!" the old man continued his senseless ranting. "My chisel and hammer is divine! Every thing I carve will ring true! Just as I have carved on the Giant of Stone, so have I carved upon the Holy Wall of our Great Descent! The True Child of Prophecy will come!"

"Tell me! Who are you?"

"I am the Interpreter of Divine Will! I am the Great Prophet! I am the one that carries the Hammer and Chisel, the pen of the Gods! I am the only one who knows the Ancient Scripts!" the old man would have leapt off his chair and danced if the Tau warriors didn't hold him down.

"You…you are Gufen'To! Father's most Trusted!" Trance finally found something that she could grasp in her memory.

XXX

"Go over the Tau'va again!" Gufen'To snapped.

"The Opening: Come…come share the fruits of my labor."

"Tell me, what is the reply?"

"And we will share the burdens of your toil." It was the first time she ever got it right.

"Notice the 'we' that was used. The Tau are very precise on division of individual and singular. The 'you' used in this sentence is for the individual. An individual is expected to ask others to come and share his or her labor, and all others will look after that individual who followed the Tau'va. Reciprocity is the concern here. Why fruits? Because it is the basic produce of agriculture on the original Tau homeworld. It is what they eat. The emphasis on food is what reminds everyone that no matter what station you are, you will still go hungry. You will need to eat, drink and sleep. The basic needs tie us all together."

"What is a homeworld?"

"Well, a land that's beyond the Heavens. That is where the Tau had come from. We supposedly came from another homeworld as well if our own Prophecies are to be trusted. Nevertheless, I shall remind you that no matter how high or how low your station is, you have the same fundamental needs as everyone else." Gufen'To pulled out a well shaped and aromatic local produce. "I suppose you are hungry, my student."

Trance grabbed the fruit and sank her teeth in it. Gufen'To frowned. The little girl immediately knew where she had gone wrong: "I'm sorry, teacher. I should have asked you first." She offered the bitten fruit back to her master. Gufen'To pushed it back.

"Generally, after every morning lecture on simple philosophical matters, we move on to our little mental exercises. I hope you have memorized the nine-nine tables."

"Yes!" Trance beamed. Gufen'To gave her a test and delved into his real job of running the May territories. When he was seemed too engrossed in the work, Trance would peek at a small cheat sheet woven into the sleeves to confirm or correct her answers. Confident of her score and results, the girl returned the test.

Gufen'To didn't even look at it. He tore it up and took out a wooden ruler. "I am charged by your Father to train a Jun'zya. I would have been more pleased if you could cheat properly."

"I'm sorry…" Trance trembled. Gufen'To did have clearance from Saan-Ul to treat Trance like his own daughter. And Gufen'To never slacked in his lessons, even if that meant that he often had no sleep for three days consecutively.

Later in the day before a formal audience, Trance could still feel happy that her teacher was being regarded as the most intelligent man in the entire nation even though her hands still stung from the corrective punishment. Gufen'To was the Grand Administrator, Judge and Architect. He rebuilt the clan cities incorporated the Tau'va more than any other clan on the planet. He translated the Greater Good into the local language, established the administrative foundations that would consolidate the power of the Pan'fu and modernized the industries and military to the point that a clan soldier of the Mays was reputed to be an equal to five of the other clan troopers. Despite being scarred by the deleterious war against the Yvan and Demos, the Mays sprang back with a new vigor and maintained her dominance. Saan-Ul was so pleased with the successes that he announced to his lords: "Gufen'To shall be given the same respects as the Pan'fu. Treat him as you would treat me."

To which Gufen'To hurried down quickly from his seat and knelt before his liege: "A Pan'fu does not joke. Please take the statement back." Saan-Ul would not have it. He raised Gufen'To back to his legs forcibly and dragged him up the dais, sharing the throne with his most trusted administrator. Of course, the Grand Administrator could hardly sit.

The very next day, however, Gufen'To was nowhere to be seen. Trance thought that her master had taken ill. A few retainers came and took her to be schooled with the noble-blooded children of other Gue'vesa clans. They would be taught alongside the Tau youths. Her first day at the giant dome shaped auditorium was disturbing. The instructor looked hardly bigger than an ant, and yet his voice boomed through the audio systems like the thunderous rains. Trance preferred to be taught face to face by a private tutor, even if he used the ruler on her little hands. When she came back, she asked around for Gufen'To. Everyone said that he was given a private fief somewhere. Just that everyone gave slightly different names of the exact locale.

"Didn't that happen to Kish-Wantu and Jan-Has as well?" Trance chirped. "They all received private fiefs. Can I go and visit them?"

"I am afraid not, Jun'zya." The reply was always the same. Even Father said it. Mother hardly cared. The infamous Sin'yaring kept herself veiled almost all the time. She's afraid to show her face to anyone. Little Lansu was the only one she could play with. The little pariah of the household was barely a year younger than she was. No one ever saw the concubine that gave birth to him, but Trance was sure that Lansu was from her lineage. He was fun at times, but otherwise annoying, begging for whatever scraps of attention that he could get.

"I wonder where did Gufen'To disappeared to." Trance said.

"Well, we could find out. I know that Kish-Wantu and Jan-Has came back in little boxes." Lansu said innocently.

"What are you saying? Aren't they given beautiful fiefs where they could live comfortably?"

"Perhaps little boxes are the beautiful fiefs." Lansu said. "If you don't believe me, we can always hide in the ceiling beams and camp there. I got a hideout with some dried sausages and fruits."

Trance reluctantly agreed. The two children crept up the beams and made their way to a secret audience chamber that could only be accessed through the crude ventilations. Lansu knew every single detail to the beams and was careful not to make any noise. Trance crawled behind him. It was how Lansu survived as the unwanted child of the household.

"I have seen Mother Sin'yaring took off her veil." Lansu said.

"How does she look?" Trance was curious.

"Good looking, I suppose. But you are the most beautiful girl in the household." Lansu replied. It made Trance blush. No one ever dared to say that in front of her except for Lansu and Father. "Hush-hush for now. Attendants are coming in. Keep low."

The chamber was lit by a few elite clan soldiers that came in. Saan-Ul arrived only after the soldiers had checked the nook and crannies. They even checked the beams, but the children concealed themselves perfectly. Trance almost yelped but Lansu held her mouth shut.

"I suppose you have done the deed?" Saan-Ul was flanked by his most trusted elite soldiers as he entered the chambers. Another group of men clad in pieces of black carapace entered with a cart full of curious boxes.

"Forty seven members of the household. Not one was missed." one of the shady characters reported. One of the attendants took the topmost box and opened it. He then closed the box and turned it over to the Pan'fu for closer inspections.

"It's a great shame." Saan-Ul said. He opened the lid and inspected the content. It was Gufen'To's severed head, carefully wrapped and cleaned. The Pan'fu even pried the lips open to inspect the crooked teeth. "Well, it's him alright. Kish-Wantu had three of himself. Gave us a lot of trouble."

"We are most careful, Pan'fu." the man bowed. "Are there other members that my liege would like to inspect?"

"No. We're done for the day. I paid you and your family good money to put everything to silence."

"Aye." the assassin agreed. Saan-Ul nodded. A second batch of armed guards barged into the chambers and closed the doors behind them. The assassins were startled by this term of events.

"Now Gufen'To could have said to you anything before he died. I don't like taking chances." Saan-Ul pulled out his plasma pistol.

"No! He said nothing! I swear upon my soul!"

"Swearing means nothing to me." Saan-Ul spat. He squeezed the trigger and the blue white beam seared through the assassin as easily as one cuts pie. Trance almost screamed, but the cries were muffled by Lansu's hand and the series of loud autogun blasts as the guards mowed down the rest of the assassins. Swords and hand-mounted crossbows meant nothing before the might of the blast powder or liquid fire.

Lansu whispered: "They did that to Kish-Wantu and Jan-Has as well. They all came back in little boxes."

Trance did not reply. Part of her died that day. She no longer wanted to be Jun'zya or Pan'fu or anyone important. She wanted to escape from the nightmare that they call power and ambition.

XXX

Seeing Gufen'To alive made Trance felt better, if only by a little. Trance knew that her father had killed everyone in his household. How the Grand Administrator escaped his fate would be another long tale. She took a fruit from her tray and gave it to the barely sane man that once ran the entire sub-continent. "If only this could ease your sufferings."

"Nay, child My sufferings are mute compared to yours." Gufen'To said. "I bought what I deserved. I coerced my liege to kill his own Father. You are born bearing the sins of your parents. And now the thing has turned its neck around to consume you."

"My mind is clearer now." Trance sighed. "Ju'sufyin, please have me dressed. I am declaring myself the Pan'fu of the Mays. It is my rightful claim."

"It is! But rightful claim does not mean ownership. You only have what you can hold in your hands!" The old man chuckled before being brought away by the Tau at Ju'sufyin's insistence.

"You have no men to support you." Ju'sufyin reminded. "And we cannot have a war at this critical moment."

"I do. Two million guards under the Seigneur Sancta. Under the friend of Nigel Maine. I will not have Lansu sit on the throne. He's…he'd only be destroyed by it." Trance said. She saw Lansu as a bitter boy that only wanted comfort. And though she did see the boy as her own blood, Lansu's own desires and ambitions took a twisted turn. Like Father, Lansu found the Prophecy to be a tool that he could use to his advantage. All those that fulfilled the Prophecy did become Pan'fu, one way or another.

"I can choose not to arm the guards. You will lead two million men with sticks and stones."

"You will have a long and drawn-out civil war if Lansu is not stopped. He is a vortex of retribution and revenge. He will get back at everyone that stepped on his toes. Everyone, including the Tau. Who was his advisor? I only regret not keeping my eyes on him."

"It is true that even we had neglected Lansu's bid for the Pan'fu's seat, but he has promised status quo."

"There is no status quo with Lansu in power." Trance insisted. "I knew him from childhood. He may seem meek, gentle and eager to please. But his actions betrayed the poison in his own dark heart. He is coming after me next. You know it, but you allow it. Why? I am the rightful heir to the seat! I am the one that will end the cursed Prophecy and expose the Giant of Stone to be a mere construct!"

At this point, a Tau warrior came into the confined chambers and saluted. "Ethereal, bad news. We have assailants closing in on all vectors. The vanguard was around fifty in number according to the projected firepower. They are well trained and armed, and fight with Imperial tactics of overlapping fire. It was good thing that we're here, or they would have overran the pathetic guards at this confinement"

"He's coming for me. The last legitimate heir. Kill the Child of Prophecy so that he can clench that mantle from my dead hands." Trance knew that Lansu didn't trust her madness either.

"Fight them back. Have the Shas'o drop in a Shas'la squad and support our position. How dare anyone attack one under my custody?" Ju'sufyin stood up. One of her attendants gave her the staff of office. "The Shas. What are the casualties?"

"Three wounded. We have a captured enemy soldier."

"I will interrogate him myself. Trance, come with me."

The trio walked in the underground tunnels, the sound of gunfire and exploding shells passed through the earthworks and echoed amongst the walls. A group of Shas with badly dented and scorched armor saluted their Ethereal.

"That is the captive?" Ju'sufyin looked at the helmeted figure. Imperial Uniforms with the aquila. He even smelled like an Orresian with their distinctive halide-soaked atmosphere.

"Barely alive, Ethereal." the Tau replied.

"Shas'ui Ji'sun, I will question him myself." Trance said. She could recognize her Tau friend anywhere. "Remove his helmet so I can see his traitorous face. The one that helped a kinslayer to his throne of power."

A Tau soldier complied. One of them held the wounded down while the other took his helmet off. It was a face of an Imperial Crusader. Trance grabbed him by his face and stared into his eyes. "Tell me! What did the kinslayer promise you to slay me?"

"Heh, you must be the so called Pretender to the Prophecy. He wants you alive. The beast wants your flesh. He thinks he has our loyalty. No, Heathen. We only serve the Arch Deacon Neusonn Marjory the Undying. The one who would spread the fires of war throughout this accursed world and prepare it for Eternal Judgment! We will prevail! Long live the Imperium of Man!" the Imperial Guardsmen chortled.

"What of Lansu? Is he under the poisonous influence of your deleterious philosophy?"

"I am only a lowly servant to the God Emperor. Let me pass into death peacefully, heretic. I am only regretful that my task was never accomplished." the Crusader turned his head over to one side and closed his eyes.

"Send him to the racks! Use pain! Whatever means necessary! I want to get to the bottom of this!" Trance screamed.

"No, Trance. The Old Ways are over." Ju'sufyin breathed heavily as her mind raced through all the possibilities. Her choices were narrowed down to one by the obvious truth. "Relay my command to Shas'o Hiyan'zuo once more. I want the entire planetary coalition at the ready. Emphasize the urgency. Mont'au is upon us. Our own Gue'vesa is on the brink of treason once more, and we must remove the venom before it spreads further."

"My formal battle robes and symbols of honor?" Trance inquired. She's desperate to clench her position once more.

"We will claim them at your clan fortress." Ju'sufyin snapped. "Shas'ui!"

"Yes, Ethereal?" Ji'sun saluted. He was being personally addressed by the Ethereal. The first time in his life to receive such an honor.

"What do you think of the new Seigneur Sancta, that Guardsman known as Church?"

"I think we can trust him. He and his Red Robed Helper did manage to restructure the defeated Gue'la coalition. Now whether those Gue'la could still be trusted, I cannot be too sure."

"Only answer the question next time, Shas'ui." Ju'sufyin took Trance's hands and led her out of the bunker. The Shas warriors guarding the perimeter never expected the appearance of an Ethereal. A low altitude skimmer craft flew past and dropped its deadly cargo. A squad of three battlesuits landed right in the midst of the attackers and had them floundering in a torrent of blue plasma fire. "Time to move you somewhere safer, Trance."

"There's no safe ports for me anymore."

"You will be with Maine. We are heading back to the Orresian prisoner camp." Ju'sufyin clambered on board her skimmer with the help of a few Shas warriors. She had no time to squander. "I want every Pan'fu and Jun'zya of the major and minor Gue'vesa clans brought online now."

The Tau communications array officer aboard the Ethereal skimmer proceeded to get in touch with every single clan on the planet. Only five minor clans replied to the calling of the Ethereal. The rest were either disrupted or were picked up by stricken retainers. Trance counted in her mind. The Pan'fu of Yvan and Demos were slain. The Wes-Hur had it worse. The entire family was slain, and the body of their Jun'zya whom she was supposed to marry was horribly mutilated. It had Lansu's signature all over it. The madness of an envious beast. She was suddenly reminded of herself and Maine in their own demented paradise of ecstasy and blood-letting.

"What are the intentions of the clans?"

"Isn't it obvious. They want the Orresian prisoners of war destroyed to the last man." Ju'sufyin said.

"They will not touch my property, Ethereal. And you need them to win this petty war to face your next big thing. Don't let the Heretics of the Throne win. We fight for Tau'va, the ever Triumphant Will of the Great Unity! Share my fruits, and I will share your toils!"

Trance held her chin high as Ju'sufyin studied her face. The Ethereal knew what it was like to lead. And Trance was no alien to this matter. She would defeat her own brother, and end the curse of the Mays. Beyond that, everything and anything would be possible.


	23. Trench Diggers

Chapter 023

"Back amongst the rank and file, the trash of the Guards, eh?" a soldier taunted Maine as he lined up to receive the tools of his trade.

"Hey, Duke-General. You want me to blow you softly?" another soldier tried to mimic Trance's girly tone. It was a poor performance but it made the guards howl with obscene laughter. One of them kicked Maine in the back where the scourge wounds had yet to heal completely. He fell flat on his face and picked himself up as though nothing happened. _Yes, you pathetic worms. Stay quiet or the next dead guy would be you._

The fight that had been dying to break out disappeared in a whiff. That boisterous ruffle was gone. Everyone seemed to be eyeing for their chance to have a go at the ex-Duke General only a second ago. Turned out that the Seigneur Sancta was there along with Essesohn. The Commissar had drawn his saber and rested the heavy blade on his shoulder. A squad of young cadres trailed behind him, eyes-shifting about for the slightest misdemeanor. Maine wished he could thank the Seigneur. But he knew that his present quandary was created by these usurpers of power. He resigned to his fate as a mere private. Perhaps a full-faced mask would be applicable.

"I want the rearmament done at double speed. No camps will be set until we make our first fifty kilometers. Be mindful of your rations for that is all you will be getting for three days!" the Seigneur bellowed. _Major Offensive. Lightning strike. Plodding on foot as well. _Maine knew that the war had begun. "Prepare your soul, good men. We are the servants of the Eternal Emperor and the Executor of His Divine Will. Fight for justice. Kill the followers of the kinslayer wherever you find them, and give them no succor until they submit themselves completely without question!"

"The Seigneur Commands!" Essesohn echoed.

"Glory to the God Emperor of Man! Glory to our Righteous Creed!" the reply was led by the newly instated officers, chosen with the help of the Departmento Ministorum records that were largely intact. Maine nearly yawned. Just last week he had the entire army kneel before him and Trance while they dressed themselves in garlands and doused themselves with wine. And now they're completely bent over to another guy. Another tyrant and another despot. Nothing special. _The fucking hypocrite probably doesn't even know I'm here._

Under the watchful eyes of the fledgling Commissariat, the men dared not make anymore moves. Maine trudged up to the quartermastery. Another insignificant officer trying to appear important. Maine went through the registration protocols he had drafted and received his package. Penal guardsmen get next to nothing. Not even a working rifle. They were given at least two shovels, a whetstone, a pickaxe and standard mallets. Forty five minutes was given for equipping. The Vanguards were already off with the armored companies. Maine, however, was with men of the poorest qualities. Neglected by all its handlers, even the regimental Colonel was a piss-poor and flowery-livered idiot. He probably wetted his pants whenever the fighting starts. These regiments spend more time with mud than the foe. The worst part was that they think they could beat him.

Which they did. The next few days were not exactly enjoyable for Maine. He persuaded an endless stream of challengers to find better opponents. Most were left finding teeth in the mud. Some were taken to the field hospital. He made himself felt better by remembering that the Guardsman served under the 97th in the 11th regiment. Those men were a heap of trash scarcely better than the 166th of Orresian 24th. There were actual criminal elements within these mobs of men-things. Maine shook the daze from his head and attempted to regain his focus on the opponent. He wiped the trail of blood that ran from his mouth as he stared in astonishment. The giant of a man leapt up easily and snapped his broken jaw back to its place with no obvious sign of pain. On any ordinary guardsman it would have killed them. _Bastard…is this guy a failed astartes superhuman or something?_

"Pig! Pig! Pig!" the soldiers around them chanted. The giant flexed his shoulders and forced it back into the socket. That last double flying kick to his head and shoulder didn't work. Maine could hardly make out the precise outline of his foe. His bionics was smashed and the fried circuitry gave him distracting non-sense that even interfered with the visual inputs from his good eye.

"Coming at you, Duke General!" the Pig grunted. Maine cursed. _Underestimated the fucking punk._ The giant was too fast for his size and his body was as hard as rock. Maine had tried every single critical strike that he had memorized since he was a mere boy. He hated to lose, but he could hardly dodge that left hook and had forgotten about the knee. _Bad mistake. _It sent Maine flying through the air before landing on the soft ground. _Ignore the pain! On your feet before the count of three or I will shoot your baby-heads off!_ The instructors of the Schola Progenium loomed right before him. Maine bit his lips and climbed back up, much to everyone's amazement and disappointment. Scraps of Orresian purples, packs of chewies and smokes changed hands. Maine could hardly care. He spat a thick pellet of phlegm intermixed with his blood.

"You, very tough. Tougher than all small guys I've fought." the Pig nodded.

"You, very tough. Tougher than all the guys I killed before." Maine taunted. _Can't lose to this brainless moron._

"Who's betting for the Duke General? Its three hundred and twenty six purples to one!" the opportunists shouted. A few that were insane enough still betted on Maine, still wanting to ride that tide of thirteen consecutive victories. Not that it made him feel any better. Those men were more brainless than a tree nut.

The Pig came again. _Watch the left_ _and the knee._ Maine reminded himself. But the Pigs had changed tactics. It came with a spinning kick that Maine quickly ducked under. The wounds that the scourge had left bit deep into his bones. _Fuck the Walk. I would have already killed this bastard if only I have another fraction of endurance. _The elbow came down swiftly, forcing Maine to catch it with both hands. It hammered him into the floor. Sensing victory, the Pig threw his entire weight on him. This guy was no normal man. He's a trained fighter. His enormous fist, at least fifteen centimeters across, came down like a mighty hailstone. _Not on the face!_ Again Maine managed to duck the blow at the last possible moment, pinning the giant's arm to the ground and trying to break it with every bit of might he could muster.

It didn't break. The Pig's bones were harder than thick cords of steel. Maine flew into the air again, his air smashed from his lungs. He tried, twice, to get back on his feet. The blow must have broken more than just bones.

"Hail the Pig!" the men chorused and chanted. "Hail the victor!"

"Fuck…fuck this." Maine would not be defeated. _But it's really bad for health._ Something welled up in his throat and came out as torrent. Stomach acid and blood. The vessels must have burst down there inside. His waist burnt with a pain like fire. Both of his legs trembled as he tried in vain to bring them closer so that he could adopt a better offensive position. It must have looked pathetic.

The Pig's did not carry any emotion on his face. "No killing. Seigneur Sancta say so. "

"Fuck the Seigneur Sancta. He will promote me for killing a mound of trash like you…"the taunt ended with a mouthful of blood. The men laughed. Maine would have laughed if he's in the audience. _The loser thinks he's going to win. Fiction stories are fiction because they never told the truth about life._ And Nigel Maine sailed through the air once more. This time he thought about Trance. She must have conveniently forgotten about him. Probably frolicking with the others.

XXX

Nigel Maine woke up as a heavily bandaged man. He was amongst the first casualties even before the fighting started. Of course, prior to the Pig he hade made a couple of others. Accidents, bad boots and the occasional tank did the rest of the 'expected attrition'. Bad rations and even the good healthy air that some of the men were unused to did their share as well.

"Hey you, get back on bed!"

"Fuck you, medicus." Maine ignored him and walked out of the tent. The fighting must have started for half a day at least. Casualties were already pouring in and stretched as far as he eyes could see. All that moaning and groaning made him sick. Men carrying bucket full of blood, fluids, soaked through aprons, dirty surgical tools and mangled limbs weaved between the rows of wounded men. The new officer corps and their aide hoisted the dying men to their feet. To gain regimental recognition before death before and to have their names entered in the Glorious Book of Martyrs. Maine licked his dry lips and felt for his bionics. It was removed and the wound treated with heavy antiseptic. They probably also force-fed him with purification serums while he was unconscious. That stabbing pain and heat in his forebrain had disappeared.

Maine grabbed one of the Guards by the shoulder. "Tell me, soldier, what happened?"

"Address me properly, private!" the sergeant bellowed. Maine thought about giving him a lethal blow on the temple. But his arms were too heavily bandaged and his movement restricted to help in the healing.

"Sorry, sir Sergeant!" Maine clacked his heels together and saluted the best he could. This man probably didn't even know of his identity.

"Well, private, since you can walk around and give a decent salute, we could sign you up for the next offensive. What is your designation?"

"First company…" Maine almost gave in to his ingrained reflexes. "I mean, 166th of the Orresian 24th, at your service, sir Sergeant!"

"Hmph. Looks like I spotted the wrong man. Grab your shovel and get back to work, plodder." the Sergeant ordered. Maine ravished the Sergeant's female relatives in his mind, saluted, and walked away from the field hospital. The color of the Orresian 24th was the Shackled Saint. Some historical figure that supposedly served in the penal regiments as well. He did something either extremely great, foolish or both and received the Beatification that no one thought possible. Maine didn't even bother learning his name. He made one up for him – Saint Gitbak Tudig Ghin. The Pig was there, shoveling and hauling sacks of soil methodologically with impossible ease.

"Maine the Tough. The Courage." the Pig greeted him with his broken language. He seemed to harbor no animosity towards the ex-Duke General.

"Pig." Maine replied as he caught his shovel in midair. Maine only chose to work with the Pig because the other men gave him a huge amount of room and therefore privacy. Maine would hate having to fight another bunch of losers who think they can score infamy by defeating him.

"You fight good." the Pig said as he shoveled the soft wet earth.

"I know…you fought well, too." Church probably patted people on the back so many times that getting a compliment from the hypocrite never felt special. A compliment from the Duke General, however, was a reward that many thought impossible to earn.

"I know. Me best fighter. Hive 21." the Pig nodded and complimented in return. "You. Best opponent in me life."

"Oh." Maine didn't even feel flattered. He ripped the bandages out and carefully moved his shoulders. It was almost completely healed. His waist still felt sore.

"Most people. Dead in 2 rounds. You. Take five hits. Give me six. All very painful. I endure." the Pig stretched out his big fingers, and discovered that both hands had only five. He tried to make a sixth by moving his hands around.

"Yes, yes. Very nice." Maine was already making a comparison on who could win the competition if there was one for the biggest idiot in the Guards. The Pig could certainly be a contender. Greg Boomer would be another one. Maine even considered himself a candidate. The Duke General that was stupid enough to lose everything to Church.

"Here. Look." the Pig actually regarded Maine as a friend. He was fishing around under his fatigues for a picture. But what he took out was a small metallic necklace which came with a locket. It opened to reveal a picture of a beautiful woman.

"Me mama." _My ass. It's Songs Hill straight from the cover of a colored issue of Guard; morale raising literature contained within. She's younger than me when we left the planet. And probably slept with all the officers. She's the type of person that Henson would sleep with._ Maine didn't know which bastard gave this to the Pig.

"Who gave you this?"

"Good man Bing Holds. I now work for him as good servant." the Pig smiled. _Semi-literate Colonel Holds. The bastard._

Maine felt bitter. It was not from being defeated by the Pig. That was his fault of thrashing twelve men in a row without rest, all of them seasoned fighters. And plus, he picked the fight with the Pig because he thought he was easy. In the end, Maine had to conclude that he felt sorry for the idiot. "I will find you something later." Maine said. The water man trudged up and filled up the canteens for them. Maine was about to drink when the Pig smacked it out of his hands and grabbed the water man that tried to make a dash for it.

"You! Poisoner!" the Pig grunted. Maine stared at the spilled canteen with some suspicion.

"Have the guy try a sip." Maine gave the partially spilled canteen back to the soldier whose face turned whiter than ash. The Pig grinned and took the canteen.

"Drink. Your poison!"

"Please! No! Spare my life! I had to do it or they'd rape and kill me!" the soldier gasped. _Definitely poisoned._

"Wait! Pig, no killing. Seigneur Sancta said so." Maine said with a hushed tone. A crowd of soldiers had been lured to their trench by the commotion. Maine immediately changed his stance towards the water man. "Remember, plodder, you're dealing with the ex-Duke General. Next time you serve him water, you serve him with two hands. Now get out of the trench before I stuff the mud into your face with my bloody shovel."

"Aye, aye!" the soldier whimpered and ran as though his balls were on fire. The Pig was about to say something but Maine quickly held his hand and motioned him to keep quiet. The soldiers, itching for a fight and blood, left with great disappointment. Their sergeants and lieutenants whipped them back to work with undercity obscenities and criminal slangs.

"Maine! You no tell truth. That man poisoner." the Pig said when they were left alone again. "Must be punished."

"Well, Pig, when you're as smart as me, you'd realize that some things are best left under the carpet." Maine was already creating a list in his mind. A list of people who have the motive to kill the ex-Duke General. The officers and some of the regiments definitely had the motives, but why do it with poison? Maine analyzed his situation again. _Trance? I'm only a mud-moving plodder whose rank of private was only a euphemism of my real position. And she's probably a puppet duchess held by the Guards. Church? Not enough motive there. And poison is beyond him. Janus Bring? Well, he wouldn't dare make any move without the consent of Church, and I wrote his love letter that netted his little wife. Boyle Young was too easily satisfied by machines… Got it. The Hospitaller bitch and that legless Zealot friend of hers. That wife of Bring and Church respectively. She wants to get back for that attempted rape. _

Maine gripped the handle of his shovel tightly until his knuckles turned white. The Zealot felt good even though it was a trap. The Hospitaller would probably feel even better. The Pig gave his canteen to Maine. He only drank a third of it and gave the rest to the person he considered as a friend. "You. Must be smart. Silent means thinking."

"Not just thinking, Pig. Plotting. Plotting is thinking put to something useful…and disastrous." Maine drank a sip and gave the canteen back. "Keep the rest for yourself, Pig. Thanks."

"You. Good man. First one to thank me."

"Oh." Maine felt flattered now. He probably should call the Pig something more awesome. Perhaps Fat Boar or Tusked Boar. Something that's more ferocious.

XXX

The Trench that they dug earlier that day became the frontlines and a place for bloodbath that very night. The pre-emptive offensive was disastrous. The Mays were more than prepared. Maine wished he had a working Las Rifle in his hand. The battery shorted after the first trigger squeeze and he was reduced to the shovel which worked better than the rifle furniture when it comes to trading blows. The Clansmen had painted their armor and faces with a layer of mud and made their attack in a stagnantly humid night. Probably to foil the sensitive noses of the xenos. And it worked. Maine pried his shovel out of the broken carapace of his dead enemy, and helped him to his muffled indigenous plasma rifle and a fine combat blade. Out of curiosity he brushed aside the blood soaked mud to see what was written on the carapace.

Not the clan symbol of the Mays, but something more graphic. A pair of blank staring eyes that bled blood. Maine cursed as the powerful spotlights were switched on. The entire plain was covered with enemy soldiers. They gave up their infiltration advance and proceeded in an all-out charge. The Guards would be raining high explosive shells on them within a minute and the clansmen no time to lose. Neither does Maine. Standard Guard protocol tells Maine that he's dead in the middle of a concentrated barrage. It's either dash to the support lines or get blasted to smithereens with the clans.

The familiar whine of incoming shells came half a minute faster than expected. _Fuck the Sancta. He prioritized the artillery. He knew it was the king of the field._ The field exploded with the bodies of clansmen and fellow guardsmen trapped in isolated pockets. There were no morals in war. Only a single race to victory. These were acceptable losses. Nevertheless, the morale of the clansmen was astounding. These insane soldiers shambled forth as if possessed. It reminded Maine of the remnants of the Guards in their final frenzied defense in the Isthmus Theater. Unfortunately for the guards, the entire front was simply too wide and too big, and the clansmen had learnt from their experience with the Imperials and knew to keep themselves in scattered formation to minimize casualties and used dense overlapping cross fire to pin down the opposition. A concentrated battalion of captured Leman Russ tanks with clan paint themes loomed on the horizon, blasting away at the hardpoints.

Maine himself was pinned down by the Pig. "Lots of boom boom, Maine." A burst of bullets and tracers flew across. A squad Clansmen shouted their battle command and charged into the trench. The Pig made short work of them with his looted autogun and impossible might of his fists. Maine helped with his salvaged rifle and killed one of them just as he leapt down with his painted blade.

"The boom-booms brighten my day." Maine felt that he must had broken a rib or two. Having a two meter twenty beast throwing his entire weight on him was not particularly exciting. "What happened to regimental command or battle command?"

"Ran away. Bing Holds gone. Shiny-Uniformed guys gone. Dirty-Uniformed men gone. Only us left, me thinks."

"Yeah. We probably have twenty working rifles to a company. Can't expect us to fight." Maine spat. "With me, Pig?"

"Huh?"

Maine ignored the pack mule. He salvaged all the weapons he could. The clansmen were armed with a plethora of arms. Captured Imperial equipment, indigenous made las rifles, plasma carbines, autoguns, Tau manufactured gue'vesa gears and even ancient black powder multi-action single shots. In the end, Maine estimated he had only about a dozen shots with the plasma rifle, eighteen for the black powder rile and thirty for the autogun made out of poor quality sheet steel. The enemy tank battalion blasted through the mangled trenches and drove straight into the center of the Guards. Counter-artillery bombardment had begun in earnest. The guards melted and ran as the clans threw in the reserves.

"Smart, very smart Church." The hypocrite had probably browsed through his works and crude cartographic work on the subcontinent. This battleground was deliberately chosen. The master of war would fight wars at the place and time of his choosing. And Church definitely expected the Mays to attempt the assault when given the bait. Maine finally knew the difference between a plodder in the penal regiments and the 1st company trooper. The trooper had direct access of local combat situations all the way to regimental level. With their suite of vox receivers and secured channels, they were on top of things, correct to at most ten minutes. The plodder, however, was blinder than a carrion worm. In fact, they were treated like the boneless critters. All they do was dig and take care of the vast amount of trash from the Regulars. What Maine hated most was that they lag at least three hours behind Guards time when it comes to Battlefield updates.

"You talking to me?"

"No, Pig." Maine gritted his teeth as he braced himself for more. "I'm thinking about the Seigneur Sancta." He spied a squadron of locals on crude skimmers attempting to expand the breakthrough made by their armored battalion. These crafts were crewed by two men, one of them mounted on a tail gimbal with a large caliber autogun. Maine aimed for the driver with his black powder rifle. Everything was a potential tool for sublime murder.. Including ancient crap like these. The report was nostalgic. One of the skimmer spun out of control and smashed itself into several pieces against a smoking bunker. _Right through the head._

"Wow."

"Watch my back, Pig. I am going to retrieve the standards from Regimental Command." Maine weaved through the trenches now choked full of the dead and dying. Maine ignored those cowardly Guardsmen that feigned death to escape attention and had Pig carry a heavy autogun on his back. The pack mule needed proper exercise anyway. The partially dug-in regimental command was a mess and completely occupied. A squad of men in bright colored scales and plumed helmets were bellowing at each other over a large map.

"What are they talking about?" the Pig clearly didn't understand local dialects. He probably don't even know standard Gothic.

"They knew they were caught in a trap. No real resistance. They only met penal regiments so far. Regiments that have twenty guns to a company." Maine said as he adjusted his sight on the one with a flamboyant plumed helmet and lacquered ceramic-carapace. "Do you know how to unpack the autogun?"

"No." _Bastard. I have to do everything myself. _Maine extended the recoil-compensating tripod and fixated the ammo belt. Someone had forgotten about the coolant tank. _I am supposed to remember everything. Damn you, Maine. Stop thinking about Trance for a second._

"Do you have water on you?" Maine asked.

"No."

"Piss on it when it starts to smoke." The big fat bladder on the Pig have around two liters at least. Maine began firing, killing three outright and causing the rest to scatter. A couple of them leapt onto their skimmers and began to make a flanking attack on their position. "Fire for me, Pig! I will get rid of them." Maine vaulted himself over the tank carcass that they concealed themselves with. The foe was in his demon-faced mask and mounted on his gravity-defying stallion of steel. He turned the craft around with a masterful precision and swung his pole-blade.

"Imperial!" the clansman shouted. Maine saw the sashes flowing from his scaly shoulder guards. Souvenirs that they stole from the army of priests. The enemy charged at about seventy kilometers per hour. Maine knew he had to leave space for error and the speed of the forearm swing. He unleashed a shot of superheated ionic particles from his plasma rifle that seared through the enemy's neck. The headless body still swung the blade with a forward momentum, and Maine was only barely dodged that blow. The trooper rolled on the ground as the dead pilot was thrown off his mount as it bit the dust. With the support of the Pig and the heavy autogun, Maine mounted the crashed skimmer and narrowly ducked another decapitating swing. This new opponent had painted the same two eyes on every strip of his multi-jointed carapace armor.

"Nigel Maine!" he cursed. _He knew my name._ The triple streamers on his back betrayed his identity. The self-proclaimed King of the Clans, the Child of Destiny, the Equalizer and Eternal Justice. The boy-maniac known as Lansu May. "This one's mine! No one interferes!" Lansu leapt off his mount and separated his pole arm into the double serrated blades. _Retard. Now I'm mounted and you're not. _Maine fished a pole arm on the ground and charged straight for Lansu, and suddenly realized that it was a stupid idea. The boy-maniac and his supernaturally sharp swords sliced through the vehicle with hardly any effort. Maine leapt off the vehicle and landed without breaking his knee or ankle. _What is the Pig doing? Tear this guy to pieces and we'd win the war immediately!_

"Pig! Fuck you! Pig! Fire or something!" Maine bellowed as he dodged the blades. It came like a blizzard of shiny silver. Lansu certainly wasn't a complete let down. Even with all those purely cosmetic streamers that seemed to get into the way, the boy still fought like an acrobat. In the space of about twenty seconds, Maine knew he had at least been cut three times and his legs were once again getting weak. His sight throbbed with darkness, causing his opponent to drop out of focus at times. _Blood loss. It would be over in two minutes. It must be over in two minutes._

Maine saw it in Lansu's eyes. An opening was spotted. A lethal one. One that Maine advertised. The blade moved as though it was alive, hungry for the dirty, black heart of the twisted storm trooper. Just as the tip bit into his sorry excuse of flak armor, Maine fired the tiny piston sewn into his sleeve. Penal guards never fought fair, and Maine never intended to fight fair either. A rusty nail was propelled into one of the numerous eye slits, camouflaged between the numerous staring orbs that covered the foe's armor. The boy screamed in pain. Before his own retainers could interfere, a squad of Tau atmospheric transports airdropped a squad of heavily armored Tau battlesuits.

"The Tau! They gambled on the Imperials! Get me out of here!" Lansu screamed. _On this aspect Lansu's not that different from Trance. Cowardly and obsessed about their face. _Maine made no attempt to finish Lansu off. He was not in a position to. He collapsed onto the ground as the retainers simply ignored him and tried to shield their Pan'fu with their flesh and blood. The plasma bolts tore them apart easily, but by some miracle the boy-maniac was evacuated onto a heavy skimmer which blasted through the air and was soon followed by a small squad of escorts that pinned down the Tau.

"Alright, Lansu. I will finish you." Maine panted as he attempted to stanch his bleeding wounds.

XXX

The events after the fight with the King of the Clans could be summarized as a modest tactical victory for the Guards. Lansu never expected the Tau to devote enough atmospheric crafts to insert two full regiments of elites right in their rear echelon. Without the reserves to guard the supplies, the depots were easily overrun and the clansmen that overextended themselves faced a counter-charge led by Trance May herself. At least twenty six thousand clansmen surrendered that day. And the rumor that Lansu May was mortally wounded in the engagement spread like wild fire. The myth of his divinity was destroyed. The King of Clans was reputed to taste his first defeat under the hands of a mere trench digger.

Trance May must have felt good. The counter-propaganda composed by Church and his cronies reached every local ear. Since the locals were ingrained into thinking that the Tau would only help the righteous, the Imperial Guards were easily reprieved from their supposed crimes. Other clans reluctantly withdrew their claims that the Imperials had sent assassins and some even mustered their forces and descended upon Lansu's scattered armies like hungry crows. Every crime and trespass was heaped unto the boy-maniac to further jeopardize his rule. Effigies of Lansu were erected and burnt in cities that declared themselves as vassals of the rightful Pan'fu. Collaborators to Lansu's short-lived regime were tried. Trance did not hand down harsh judgment. Rather, the sparing of them accelerated the surrendering of many more retainer houses and solidified the Guards' grip on May territory. The Clan Capital of Restive Autumn fell without a shot. All that was left of Lansu's pathetic Empire was the Clan fortress, the citadel that used to be Fishpan's headquarters. The Mays reclaimed it after the complete defeat of the Imperial forces. And now it would become the boy-maniac's coffin.

The vanguard of the Guards arrived only a few hours earlier, beaten back by the heavy weapon emplacements that Lansu had installed. Maine ignored the exchange of shells above and crept slowly between the tangled messes of dead guardsmen. Pig followed closely behind.

"Maine. Big army coming. Why not wait?" the Pig asked.

"Because I want to kill Lansu before they do." Maine answered. The spotlight washed across the battered trenches as the defenders started unleashing a merciless stream of fire against a section of Guards testing defense integrity. The duo ignored the skirmish as they used salvaged ropes and picks to scale the battered wall. Potholes of various sizes left by munitions of all imaginable calibers allowed them to have a grip. Muffled curses came from above, forcing Maine to hold his awkward position. The Clansmen were lowered by the dozen in giant buckets and ropes from a cannon tower right next to them. These men, like the ones that assaulted their position a week ago, were painted head to toe in black. The only thing that disturbed Maine was the red staring eyes painted onto their chest carapaces and full-faced helmets. Unfortunately for these suicide squads, optical enhancements that came from Orresian works were returned to the hands of elite Guards regiments.

As the clansmen were getting massacred right in their pathetic buckets, Maine felt a dull thud next to him and bits of cement flew about to hit his face. "Fuck this. They're shooting us as well." the trooper cursed as he doubled his climbing speed. The Pig was already over the wall.

"Waiting for you, Maine." the Pig smiled. Stupidly, as always. Maine wasted no time dispatching a squad of clansmen with his autogun rifle. A self-made muffler from the inner stuffing of military jackets helped to conceal the muzzle blast. The enemy started firing back blindly. The trooper picked them apart as they foolishly exposed their positions. Whatever spotlight that was turned out was put out with the help the Pig. A squadron of clansmen came charging up the stairs as Nigel Maine coolly tossed a grenade. Maine raced down the steps even before the smoke cleared, bayoneting a dazed survivor as he raced for the inner courtyards through the maze of walls and took cover in an alcove. Enemy troops swarmed around like maddened ants. The final offensive must have been started. Explosions blossomed within and without the fortifications as the Tau atmospheric crafts rained death and armored battlesuits from above.

"To the inner sanctum." Maine bit his lips as he took a canteen from a dead soldier and drank his fill. He tossed Pig what remained and stared down the empty passageway, oblivious to the death and carnage around him. "We will kill the bastard before anyone else does."


End file.
